


Something seems off...

by OakwoodOuroboros



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: 13 year-old twins, 15 year-old Wirt, 8 year-old Greg, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brothers, Family Issues, French translation now available!, Gen, SO MUCH FLUFF, Skippable, So much angst, The Duchess Approves, Time Travel, Time Travel related problems, Updates will be sporadic anyway, Warning in chapter 8 for semi- graphic description of violence, Will continue if positive feedback is received, Wolf Man Bare Chest, make that 30 years for the boys, post-canon (both stories), set in Gravity Falls a year later if you really want to know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 42,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OakwoodOuroboros/pseuds/OakwoodOuroboros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having defeated the Beast, Wirt and Greg (and Jason Funderburker, of course) finally find an exit to the Unknown, but where have they ended up?<br/>AU in which the boys do not return home the way they do in the series…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Quelque chose ne va pas...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7252594) by [OakwoodOuroboros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OakwoodOuroboros/pseuds/OakwoodOuroboros)



> Disclaimer : If I owned the rights to any popular series, I don't think I'll be writing fanfiction. Or maybe I will, just for the fun of it. But that's beside the point! I don't own either OTGW or Gravity Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know, I need to get back to my Harry Potter / Soul Eater crossover, but I had very little feedback on that story, so I think I’ll be putting it on hold for a while. Meanwhile, I fell into the lovely little fandom of Over the Garden Wall, which is a very nice and dark series, if you don’t know it already.  
> I felt like writing this morning, and this is the finished product of about 3 hours of happy typing. I hope you will enjoy it. As usual, updates if appreciation is given, in whichever way you wish to express it.

Rolling hills covered in wheat fields stretched as far the eye could see. In front of them, the winding, dried mud of the road was the only feature that cut through the immaculate gold cereal. Wirt sighed, looking down through sleep-heavy eyes at his brother. He was as exhausted, maybe even more than he was, at having had to trudge through the unforgiving forest all night long.

Yet, as Wirt reflected with a sigh, it had been worth it.

The forest was far too dangerous for them, and even though the heat was unforgiving now that they were out in the open, at least they didn’t need to keep their eyes peeled all night long, keeping a look out for the impending threat of wild animals. Once the Beast had been defeated, they seemed to have become more and more present, as if they had been hiding from the larger threat up until then.

Although they might have been minor compared to the Beast, they still were unusually large or strange enough for Wirt to be unsure what he should do to protect his brother and himself from them. Greg, on the other hand, was rarely even fazed by the creatures, even going as far as petting one large, deformed bear on the nose.

“Wirt, do you think it’s safe to sleep now? I know it’s day and we should be having breakfast, but I’m really tired. Besides, Jason Funderburker agrees with me.” The frog croaked dutifully.

Wirt pinched the bridge of his nose, weighing the pros and cons. They were still rather close to the forest, yet he was unsure about letting Greg sleep out in full sunlight. Who knew what that would lead to?

“Fine. Let’s go and rest under that tree over there, it looks…safe.”

“Hurray for Wirt! I knew you had a master sleeping-plan!” Greg skipped off, his tea kettle clutched in his arms. His brother sighed good-heartedly, following at a more measured pace.

Since they had escaped the Beast, he regarded his not-quite-brother’s antics as more amusing than annoying. Even though he was more sleep-deprived than he would have liked, he hadn’t snapped at him even once, apart from that incident with the bear. He had really panicked that time, about two days ago…

_“Greg! If Jason Funderburker has discovered another crime scene, could you just tell him that…”_

_Wirt’s jaw dropped at the huge beast that was towering above Greg, various slobbering mouths showing dull, old ivory coloured teeth off in an intimidating manner. The young boy was smiling, standing on tiptoes to touch the lowest of the heads’ muzzle._

_“No, WAIT!”_

_Rushing forward, his cape billowed, then snagged on a thorny branch. Halted and choked by the pressure of the tag on his throat, he could only observe the scene, powerless, while he struggled with the clip._

_Greg jumped a little to reach the jet, moist nose. The bear didn’t move, not reacting when the miniature hand patted him. When Greg had had his fill, he turned around and hopped back to the still trapped brother. Wirt let out a strangled cry when he turned his back on the creature, certain that it would use this moment of weakness from his brother to slash at his back or snap his head off or…_

_“Wirt! Did you meet my new friend, his name is Multi-Bear, and…”_

_“Greg!”_

_The younger boy was immediately smothered in a tight hug, nearly unable to breathe as Wirt held him as tight as possible. The cape hung, abandoned on the branch, like a forgotten flag. The Multi-Bear had disappeared back into the woods, its huge bulk merging seamlessly with the tree trunks around it._

_“Greg, do you know how worried I was about you just then? You could have gotten hurt, or eaten, or something even worse!”_

_Greg laughed, irking his brother slightly._

_“You sound so much like mom when you say that! It’s really funny, and even your face has the same worried look as hers!”_

_“This is not about what I look like! No matter how ridiculous I may seem, your life was on the line back then, and I don’t want you to get hurt, so please don’t do something that would make me worried like that again, please Greg…”_

_Silence ensued as the older brother rocked them both back and forth, still recovering from the shock._

_“Is it because you are worried about what mom and dad would say? “_

_Wirt halted the rocking, before slowly getting up again, carefully letting go of the younger boy._

_“No, Greg… I’m worried because I don’t want you… I don’t want what happened with the Beast to happen all over again. Please.”_

_He turned around to fetch his cape, trying to hold back, but a sob escaped him before he had put enough distance between Greg and himself. A pair of short arms wrapped themselves around his legs, holding him still._

_They stayed like that for a while, no words exchanged, while Wirt swiped angrily at his tears. Greg had said so himself, what seemed like an eternity ago. He was the leader, and a leader must be a model of steadfast determination and have nerves of steel. He knew that he was none of these, yet had to make do with what he had. For the both of them._

“Greg would have probably wanted me to include Jason Funderburker as well.” He murmured under his breath, glancing at the boy who was already fast asleep.

A pile consisting of a tea kettle and a frog was precariously placed on his stomach, rising and falling as he breathed. As Wirt reached them, he chuckled and placed the tea kettle and frog next to him. He took his cape and hat off, the heat he had been expecting from the day finally making its intentions known.

 He rested his aching back against the tree [1]. The shoes were finally taking a toll on his health, and he even contemplating taking them off completely for the next leg of their journey. A dirt road shouldn’t have too many sharp stones on it, shouldn’t it? Yes, but if they had to escape for some unknown reason into the huge crop-field, it would be easier and safer if he was wearing them. These worrying thoughts in mind, he fell into an exhausted, troubled sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This happened to me as well. Tall people are more likely to have problems with their backs, and two different shoes do not help, trust me


	2. This isn’t a gnome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I really enjoy writing, so here is chapter 2!

Wirt woke up to a wet feeling on his hand, which he sleepily swatted off. Something else started shoving him next, and he finally opened his eyes. The world was as black as pitch, and he panicked slightly before realising he had pulled his cape over his head as he slept. He sat back up against the pine he was leaning against, noting that the wet thing he had felt earlier had just been Jason Funderburker.

“I didn’t know that your frog found bony fingers comfortable.” He said though a yawn.

“I swear it was his idea! He was feeling hungry and wanted to wake you up, but he didn’t listen to me when I told him he shouldn’t, and the next thing I knew, he had jumped over to you and had hopped into your hand.”

Wirt smiled. “And why did you start shaking me afterwards, then?”

Greg shuffled around uncomfortably. “I thought that seeing as Jason Funderburker had already started the job, I might as well finish it off. I mean, nobody likes to be stuck in that limbo between dream and reality.”

The older brother felt slightly uneasy at this, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I guess so. Shall we try and find somewhere inhabited?” He asked, mentally adding: _and far away from this forest_.

“Sure. Do you think they would have frog food there?”

“Most probably, Greg. Do you want me to carry Jason Funderburker for you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. You’re too bony anyway.”

Chuckling at this, Wirt watched as his brother took the lead, frog placed on top of his elephant “costume”.

He looked up, checking how far the sun had travelled since their little sleep. It seemed to be early afternoon, and still incredibly hot. Where the road met the horizon, a slight haze could be seen merging the tangible object of the path in front of them and the idea of infinity, a line forever receding in front of them, like the hopes of humanity and the dreams of…

“Bad poetry, Wirt! Focus!”

Greg turned a puzzled look towards him, wondering why his brother was berating himself. He shrugged it off and went back to pretending to be a steam train.

A slight breeze sometimes bent the towering grasses around them, the waves they formed visible when they were at the top of slight rises in the path. As the sun made its way towards the horizon, Wirt’s enthusiasm at the idea of getting back to civilisation dampened. The sweat pouring down his back had him longing for the cooling shade of the Unknown’s trees.

He stopped suddenly.

“Greg…”

The younger brother, who had fallen back to walking next to him, interrupted his blabber to answer him.

“Yes?”

“How much time have we spent in the Unknown?”

“Maybe a week, three days, I’m not sure.”

“Greg, was the last time that you changed the night of Halloween, like me?”

“Yeah…” His eyes widened in realisation.

“And our clothes are no dirtier than when we put them on on that particular night!”

“Exactly. Except… now, I am actually sweating and it is itching like normal, and it didn’t do that in the Unknown. I think we’d better get to a town quickly.”

After this little conversation, Wirt’s determination was renewed, and when Greg handed him his lucky frog, he took him without a word. As the sun set, he was more or less certain that they would have to make do with whatever food they had left over from the Unknown. Fortunately, the little boy’s ravenous appetite had been somewhat reined in by the heat of the day, and they were fine with what they had at hand.

They walked until the light was too low for them to see the ruts in the path. They took to the edge of the field, just above the ditch. That way, thought Wirt, they could make themselves known quickly if someone happened across the path, or could escape into the natural cereal camouflage if anything else showed up. He was expecting to stay up to look over his brother most of the night anyway, and he wasn’t sure how far away they really were from the strange forest.

Although his resolve was strong, the nap he had taken that morning had not done much to take the edge off his several rough, sleep-deprived days he had experienced recently. Sometime after Greg had started snoring, he dropped off himself, head pitched forward in a sitting position.

A strong torch light and a dog’s bark woke him with a start. As if he had been programmed to do so, he reached for Greg and clutched him protectively in his arms. Before he could get up, Greg’s wriggling not helping in any way, a net was thrown over them both. He still tried to get up and run, but he got his feet tangled in it, and the weights made it near impossible to move after that.

The barking dog grew closer, but was still held at a certain distance. Wirt could vaguely see some silhouettes against the blinding torch light, squinting to get a better look. He couldn’t make out much though, his senses too fuzzy as of every morning. Greg, now fully awake, had his eyes trained on the figures, and seemed to understand better than himself what was going on. After a few minutes, and what he could only make out as hushed conversation from the few people a way off. They started to make their way towards them, and Wirt tightened his hold on Greg.

“Doré domi sifadosi, doré domi sifadosi, farédola midofala, rémifala simisifa…”

“Faréfala!”[1]

“Mabel! You messed up the incantation again!”

“Sorry, I can’t resist including Waddles, he needs to be remembered in these dark times when he can’t be present.”

A chuckle erupted behind her, followed by the snarl of a huge black dog.

“Careful, Soos! I’m not sure that she’s safe yet.”

“Don’t worry Dipdop. Unless you think gnomes can attack mastiffs, you shouldn’t be worried.”

She walked up purposefully up to the bundle in the net, swinging her torch to examine its contents. She didn’t spot the Mandragora they had been chasing, only a cowering, oversized gnome covering something up in a cape.

“See? He’s probably more afraid of us than we are of him!”

“No I’m not!”

“Greg!”

“Er, guys, I don’t think that’s a gnome.”

They all turned towards the bundle, examining it more closely. The thing which had spoken earlier on, and that was covered in the cape, started squirming and protesting against the desperately tight hold. A head emerged, sporting a tin tea kettle and with a very annoyed pout on his face.

“Wirt, I can’t breathe!”

At this, the older boy let Greg tumble out of his lap.

“Wait a minute, are you _human_?” The youngest of their jailers asked.

“No, I’m a magical tiger!”

“Greg! Yes, we’re human; could you please let us out? It’s a bit tight here.”

The ropes were cut and they were helped out of the tangled mess they had become. The group which had greeted them turned out to be composed of two young twins, as well as a goofy, full-grown man, and last, but not least, a huge black mastiff whose name was Annie.

“Because she’s got a long nose.” The girl twin explained.

They were lead to a jeep that was parked some way off, in which they all squeezed the back, apart the man who was driving, and Annie, who rode shotgun.

Wirt had not spoken much, too busy keeping his brother from petting the ominous dog. Now that they were relatively safe, he was rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Sorry to have interrupted… whatever you were doing back there.”

He addressed the male twin; he seemed to be the one in charge of this whole operation. Wirt cringed, even though the person was younger than him, when he shot him an annoyed gaze. His sister swooped in before he could utter a word, smiling through the gleaming silver of braces.

“That’s ok, Annie couldn’t find what we were looking for anyway. We probably lost the Mandragora’s trace before we came across you.”

The male twin forced his disappointment down his throat, and managed a smile. What had been done was now done, and besides, he now had two new people who would probably have some interesting story to tell.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t introduced each other. Please excuse my manners, I’m a bit moody sometimes. I’m Dipper Pines…”

“…and I’m Mabel! We’re paranormal investigators…”

“Mabel! Yeah, It’s sort of true, but we’re just here for the summer holidays really, so we can’t really use that term.”

“Erm, I’m Wirt and this is… wait a minute, did you say summer?”

“Yes: around August, why?”

“No, that’s not right, we’re about a week after Halloween.”

“ _Summer_ ween, you mean.”

“Ok, let’s get this clear. What year are we, we’re in 1983, right?” Panic laced Wirt’s voice, and his hat had been taken off so he could mess up his hair.

The twins looked at each other with concern in their eyes. Finally, Mabel spoke, leaning forward and taking his hand in a comforting way.

“Wirt, we’re in 2013.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> -Based on the wiki and other sources, the setting for the episode “Into the Unknown” is in the 70s-80s. I set it in 83, just to be safe.  
> -I then gave Wirt the age of 15 in that year, because it seemed canon-compliant, as well as the age of 8 to Greg. If you’ve been following me so far, in this story Wirt was born in 1968 and Greg in 1975. (7 years age difference)  
> -The language used in [1] is called solrésol, and is based on the seven music notes or the seven colours of the rainbow. It’s not just an alphabet; it’s a language in itself. I used an online translator for this phrase, but I put the original text here for the laziest of you:  
> “I banish you, I banish you, abandon the grain, go back home…”  
> “Pig!”


	3. This isn’t a joke

The ride back was spent with Dipper comforting Wirt and Mabel distracting Greg, talking to him about the future and how no, they _didn’t_ have personnel flying saucers yet. Wirt was a wreck, not crying as he expected himself to, but feeling all but empty. Dipper was talking to him, trying to explain that he could find out what had happened, try to send him back, but he only listened to half of it. The warm wind had somehow gained a slight chill, and he shivered. Oh, he had thought that in the Unknown, he had been as far from all as he could possibly be, yet now the distance seemed greater than even the one which separated him from the ever-receding horizon…

“Wirt, you idiot!” He said, slapping a palm to his face.

This interrupted the two other chattering siblings, who looked at him strangely. When he realized what had happened, his cheeks and ears turned bright red with embarrassment. Another tense second passed, before the two silliest people present in Oregon at that time exploded into a fit of giggles, which turned into a good five minutes of full-blown laughter.

At this, the older teen felt slightly better. Indeed, they were in an unusual and frightening situation, but Greg seemed more than happy, and way more comfortable with it than he was. His brother was the most important one out of them both, he thought sadly.

The jeep stopped in front of a farmhouse, where everybody got out. Jason Funderburker had been transferred from Wirt’s shoulder to the top of Mabel’s backpack, which was, in Greg’s opinion, much more comfortable. The person they now knew as Soos went off with Dipper to bring the dog back to the farmer, while Mabel led them over to an old car. Dipper would this time have to sit at the front, leaving the back bunk for the three other people who were riding in the vehicle, apart from the driver.

Wirt glanced at a sticker stuck to the window with years of dust which read:

**Superglas, sturdiest bargain glass, 1995**

He snorted at it and tried to ignore it, but his eyes kept tracing the figures over and over again. This was the first tangible proof of what the twins had said; up until now it could have all been an elaborate joke. But seeing the impossible-to-fake dirt-covered sticker, he had to resign himself to this fate which was his.

“ _When I do count the clock that tells the time_

 _And see the brave day sunk in hideous night…_ ”[1]

He felt a slight tug at his elbow, and glanced down from the entrancing numerals to Greg. He had a pleading look on his face when he said:

“Please, can you sit in the middle? I like the window seat.”

A sad smile made his way onto his face as he agreed and shuffled over. He hadn’t realised it before, but Greg was far more insightful than any other child his age, and usually had a good idea on what was best to do in these types of situations. Maybe the Unknown had opened their eyes more than he had realised.

On that thought, Mabel squeezed in and pulled out a few apples from her bag.

“I thought you might be hungry, so I asked Mrs. Bran if she had anything that we could take as snacks. I wasn’t sure what to get for Jason Funderburker though, is that alright?”

“It’s fine! He can share an apple with me if he wants. What do you think, Jason Funderburker?”

But the frog was fast asleep.

The two boys came back soon after, tired and dog-less, to Wirt’s relief. Once everybody was in the car and buckled up (it took some time for Wirt and Greg to figure out the three-point belt system ), they were off down a similar road to the last one, which turned to asphalt after a few minutes of driving.

“Mr. Bran is a bit upset that we didn’t catch the Mandragora, but he doesn’t mind us leaving it until tomorrow. Do you think you can handle that dog again, Soos? [2]”

“Yep, man. She isn’t much of a handful really, she just needs love and affection.”

“And a steel-chain leash.”

“Ok, you’ve got a point.”

A relatively comfortable silence lulled onto the car, all the people in it drooping with exhaustion. Only after a while did Mabel realise something.

“Oh, shoot! I have to phone Grunkle Stan, he needs to prepare extra bedding and food!”

She pulled the phone out the bottom of her bag, illuminating the screen with a touch of her finger. Dipper glanced back in mild interest, while the two other boys were completely enthralled. Oblivious to this fact, Mabel typed in the contact’s name (Grunkle Stan, with a goat as profile picture), and called the man.

A slight background noise of TV could be heard to her as she explained what had happened. The grunkle obliged, used to the weird stuff the two kids got up to, even if that meant he had to interrupt his wrestling match halfway through.

“You are _not_ letting Waddles watch that horrible fighting, aren’t you?”

“Er, yeah, sure.” He said, shoving the pig out of the hearing-range of the phone. Unfortunately, a loud grunt escaped the animal before this could be accomplished.

“WADDLES! Stan, you vicious, childhood-breaking monster! How could you…”

“See, ya, Mable!”

And the line went dead.

“Urgh, I know somebody who’s going to get a good dressing-down when we get home.”

Mabel’s knuckles popped as she stared out of the darkened window, a murderous flame ignited in her hazel eyes. Wirt shuddered and shrinked away from her, instinctively protecting Greg by raising his arm between them.

“Don’t worry, Grunkle Stan will probably have some sparkly sticker book to placate her with when we get back. Although I have to warn you, if he doesn’t, you should keep out of the line of fire.”

Dipper wasn’t bothered in the slightest by his sister’s anger, used to her years of silliness. Wirt was unsure of what Dipper meant by this statement. He decided to just let it slide, tagging Mabel as mostly harmless. And she had given them apples, after all.

Quite some time had passed when they finally got back to the Shack. Greg had dropped off soon after Mabel’s phone call, followed closely by the latter. Both the older boys’ shoulders were sore from serving as makeshift pillows by the end of the journey.

Wirt had shaken his brother awake, incapable of carrying him in his current state. Yawning was heard from everyone as they got out of the car. Soos brought them to the edge of the porch, before heading back home to his Abuela.

“Soos, it’s a bit much to ask you to do two sleepless nights in a row, but the new moon…”

“Don’t worry, Dipper. My brain’s mush for now, but I only need a few solid hours of sleep. I used to play computer games all night long, you know.”

“Ok, we’ll talk about that tomorrow then, it’ll be easier for both of us.”

“Fine. Bye kids!”

They all waved good-heartedly back at him. When the weak light stopped illuminating the car, they headed towards the back door of the Shack. It was unlocked, as expected, and they all filed into the small hall.

Greg recovered his energy surprisingly quickly, overjoyed by the house after days of rough living in the Unknown. Wirt was slightly less effusive, but still glad to have a safe roof over his head for once.

“Are you hungry? Mabel gave you a snack earlier on, but maybe would you like something more consistent?”

The brothers exchanged glances.

“Or you could go straight to bed.” added Mabel.

“Yeah, definitely bed.”

“All right, Stan should have set the extra stuff in our room.”

“So it will be like a sleepover!” squealed Mabel.

“Hurray! I’ve never had a sleepover before! Is it fun?” said a suddenly dubious Greg.

“Of course it is!”

“Mabel, there is a time and place for enthusiasm, and three in the morning is not one of them. Do you guys need toiletries or pyjamas or stuff?” questioned Dipper.

“No, please… just let us crash.”

Wirt was feeling a bit woozy, and he stumbled when he tried to take a step forward.

“Fine! Let’s just show you where the room is, Mable, help me please?”

Seeing as the two boys were dead on their feet, they took the precaution of grasping their hand and/or arm to make it easier for them to walk up the creaky staircase. The room they entered indeed had two extra air mattresses crammed in any way they would fit, with incredibly, a clean pillow and blanket on each of them. Wirt lost his grip on reality just then, forgetting that he was still wearing his hat and shoes as he hit the soft paradise, fast asleep.

Greg actually took his kettle and shoes off before curling up in the most comfortable bed he had had in days. Jason Funderburker was carried over by Mabel to Greg’s pillow, not having moved throughout the whole car trip. She smiled at them all before heading off after her brother to eat a little and get changed. Seeing them like that had convinced her to follow them as fast as possible to the land of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]I’m not good at writing poetry, nor will I ever be. I thank the Complete Works of Shakespeare for saving the day. (Sonnet XII)  
> [2]I read a lot of books on witchcraft and just good old magic when I was younger, and I do remember the Mandragora being associated with black dogs somehow. I guess I just needed an excuse to put a little Shingeki no Kyojin reference in there (go back to the last chapter if you haven’t spotted it, although it’s as obvious as a cherry in a pea factory). The rest of the facts I made up though, unless I state that I actually did some research about it.


	4. This isn’t a boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys for the late update, I just have so much work and general laziness piled up here, I just can’t find time/energy to write. I have to say though, I really liked your guys’ worded encouragements (thank you lone reviewers!), as well as the silent cheers at the sidelines.  
> Thanks to you all, I’m actually going to continue this story through this dark (that is, work-filled) period which is mine, instead on putting it on hiatus like I did with my other crossover. Yet again, this story wasn’t even planned; it’s more binge-writing than anything else. Nonetheless, here you are!

Strange smells woke the boys up that morning, like that of freshly-laundered bedding and frying breakfast. The husky, humid scent of the forest was absent, which made Wirt bolt straight out of the crumpled sheets as he remembered last night’s events.

Greg didn’t seem to have the same mix of worrying and confusing thoughts as he did. This was proved by the fact that when Wirt decided to look back at him to check on him, he had all but disappeared, the smell of food too strong for him to possibly resist. A few more minutes were needed for Wirt to follow suit, but his stomach finally won him over, as well as the questionable nature of Mabel’s sanity, and the explosive mix her and his brother could create.

The kitchen was easy to find, the downstairs hall leading directly off to the heavenly place. Heavenly was indeed the word to describe it, thought Wirt, as even though it was as cluttered and messy as a usually-single man’s room would be, the jumble of happy people pressed around the table and the smell coming from the stove made it one of his favourite places on earth at that time.

Mabel, comfortingly, seemed calm and cheerful, cooking something tasty in a pan. Some strangers were seated around the wooden table, of which one waved to him, and the other blatantly ignored him, pretending to be engrossed in his dirty newspaper.

“Hi, walking fashion statement. Had a good nap?” she said, winking teasingly at him.

His brain incapable of formulating an intelligent reply from lack of caffeine, he just decided to slump in the nearest chair.

“She’s talking about your rumpled, and, how could I put this? _strange_ clothes, you know.” came Dipper’s comment from behind his journal.

“Yeah, all right. Have you got any tea?”

“Coming right up, gnome guy!”

He ignored the comment like the last one, his little spike of energy from his morning reminiscence long gone. His forehead rested against the scratched table surface. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Greg stuffing himself with as much buttered French toast as he could muster[1]. His puffed out cheeks brought a fond smile to his lips, his resemblance to a hamster so striking that it was impossible to not be at least slightly amused.

“And here is your order, Mister Zombie!”

“Mabel” said Dipper, dropping the imposing book.

“It’s not like that time Dipper, I swear!” she said, waving the pan dangerously. “Well, maybe a little.” She did add with a chuckle.

“MABEL! You will NOT date everything that looks even vaguely human and your age just for so called “scrapbookortunities”!”

“But Grunkle…”

“Look, these kids have obviously been through some tough stuff and from what I’ve heard, it’s not going to be over any time soon, so do me a favour and cut them some slack, will you?”

A mumbled reply came from across the room, Mabel complying for the minute. Wirt, after finally getting the addicting drink into his system, took his time and thought over every piece of information he had just received. The moody man who had ducked back behind his newspaper was obviously the “Grunkle” the twins had been going on about. Mable had a thing for summer romances. Great. He just had to clear the air and say that he wasn’t interested.

“By the way Mabel, I’m not interested.”

“I know, I just wanted Dipdop to be jealous.”

“Try something else, it’s not working.”

“Yes it is, I can feel the heat from your face from over here.”

“Very funny.”

Well, that was done and over with.

“Wow, nice going there, man. Not many people dare stand up to Mabel like that if they don’t want plastic animals in their beverages. I’m Wendy by the way, cashier and only cool person for miles around.”

“Apart from me, I’m the coolest of them all!”

Greg, now with an empty plate in front of him, had found a pair of sunglasses who knows where and had folded his hands over his puffed up chest. Wirt laughed and ruffled his teapotless hair.

“Of course, nobody can beat your level of coolness.”

“Yeah dude, you’ve like, forced me down to second best as soon as you set foot in the room. I know it when I’m defeated.” Wendy laughed along.

Soos entered the kitchen a bit later on, having finished his morning chores. He greeted the boys with a strange type of fist bump, which Greg had obviously already mastered. Even though the atmosphere was as friendly as it could possibly be, Wirt still could not shake the thought that they were now in a different timescape, and everything around him seemed determined to remind him of that. Dipper had pulled out a device with an incredibly flat, foldable screen which he assumed to be a very advanced computer, from what he actually knew of the devices.

“I’ve been researching you two…

“..all night long. That pen clicking is driving me crazy.”

“Not much of a change there, then.”

Mabel stuck her tongue out at her brother, before bundling Greg up and running out with him. Wirt was placated by the jet-aircraft and general make-believe sounds coming from the pair. He swallowed his pride and let it be, seeing as they seemed to get along (Mabel wasn’t really that aggressive), and thinking that he would probably need space for what he had to deal with.

He was right.

Dipper quirked an eyebrow at him before continuing his talk.

“Do you think you can deal with this information? It’s pretty big and difficult to take in all at once. Psychologically, I mean.”

“Fire away. I will need to know sooner or later.”

“Fine. Here is an article which was published on the second of November 1983.”

Dipper turned the screen so it would face Wirt, who gazed upon the digital reproduction of his local newspaper. He swallowed when he saw Greg and his face on the cover, both clippings from a family photograph taken from the summer before.

“You went missing. After you went over the cemetery wall, you fell down the hill towards the lake. That’s the last place that they found proof of your presence. They checked the banks of the river, the surrounding woods, everywhere. They even sent divers in.”

His gaze was unwavering as he told the story, _their_ story, as if he’d done the same thing before. It was frightening, seeing somebody younger than him taking on this kind of responsibility.

“You’ve both been missing people for nearly thirty years, Wirt. A lot of things have happened. We’ve had wars, heroes, inventions, books, that you’ve somehow missed out on. As well as things that have happened to your family and friends in that time. I researched that as well, I know it’s nosy, but I think it’s for your own good. Some of it is a bit heavy to handle alone.”

His expression had turned from serious and a little cold to apologetic, slightly saddened even. Wirt was grateful for this person, whom even though they had met only a few hours before, and not in the most ideal of circumstances, was ready to put their well-earned rest aside to lend them a hand they dearly needed. He thought his last sentence over for a few seconds before nodding slightly.

“I would like to know what happened to them. I mean, unless we find something which could bring us back to our era. I’m ready to take the weight of that information otherwise.”

Dipper sighed and looked down at the table.

“Look, this will seem incredibly ironic, but I used to know this actual time-traveller. Believe me if you wish, or don’t, I don’t care, but he came to see me and my sister in Piedmont not two months ago. He was in a state, and had lost a lot of weight. We were shocked when we saw him like that. He only stayed long enough to say goodbye, and to explain that some things had changed. He was a good friend of ours, and I think something bad happened to him and his kind. But Mabel and I have no way of knowing.”

“I can’t say I fully believe you, but I get the message. We’ve got no way back home.” Wirt sagged at the thought.

“Wait a minute, I never said that! Who says there is no other way, the forest brought you here, Uncle Ford will probably have something about it. Come with me, if somebody’s got an answer, it’s him!”

He followed Dipper as they exited the now empty kitchen towards a plain wooden door. Of all the things on the other side, Wirt was certainly not expecting a shabby gift shop. Wendy was at the till, but apart from that not living up to the expectances of the “cashier” she had claimed to be. Muddy boots were propped on the counter and her face was hidden behind a…home improvement magazine?

“That’s a change from your usual…ah.”

Wendy had flashed the pages of the fashion magazine hidden inside the tamer cover, winking and shushing them playfully. Dipper rolled his eyes as she went back to her star scandals.

“I think she’s trying to keep Uncle Ford’s anger at bay. He hates the things, and seeing as he’s in full sight of her when he comes up the elevator, well…”

“Uhuh, I know the feeling. I got adults who were like that too, with all the “preposterous music” and “outrageous clothes”.”

“Some things just don’t change over time, don’t they?”

Dipper looked back at Wendy, who had a clearer view of any people who may come in through the shop door then they had. She looked up, and gave them the thumbs up.

Dipper typed the code in quickly and pushed Wirt through into the hidden space beyond. From the corner of his eye, he could just make out Wendy’s wave before darkness engulfed them both in the tight space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]French toast is not what I thought it was. I just meant regular toast when I was writing this sentence, but I decided to keep the expression because it gives a homey feel to the scene.
> 
> y the way, I’m not into romance, so don’t expect some. Apart maybe if it’s for plot purposes, but that’s highly unlikely. And me / my friend have been drawing fanart for this story, but we do not know if it’ll get posted some day or not. There will definitely be one as a profile picture though (on FanFiction) and they might appear as chapter images (Quotev, when I finally get around to posting it there, and maybe AO3 when I figure out how it works).


	5. This isn’t a threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Well, I’ve had quite a lot of work to get through before I could start writing again. I have to thank you yet again for your support, love, kudos, follows and co. This story is of a particular sort, that is there is absolutely no plan to it, the ideas just come as they are written down. Music in the background to get myself pumped up is the only external source I use, and of course I try to check the historical facts after they are written down.  
> Also, please tell me if this looks too similar to other stories, I might unconsciously be copying somebody else. At last, if the fandoms interest you please check out my Soul Eater / Harry Potter fic, I’ve been neglecting it quite a lot these days, and a little encouragement is always welcome.  
> Have a good read!

Wirt just considered himself lucky that the elevator ride didn’t include the two other siblings. It was already relatively awkward being squeezed together with one person more than the place was designed for, and the constant energetic aura the two other kids gave off could only result in a very uncomfortable journey. Still, it was only a quick trip after all, and the underground laboratory they reached was well worth it.

“Seeing as you have time travelled and witnessed some pretty strange stuff already, I don’t see the point in keeping this place a secret from you anymore.” Dipper told an amazed Wirt.

“Even though Uncle Ford will probably skin me alive for having shown you this place without his approval. He’s a bit paranoid.”

“What did you just say?”

A bear of a man stepped out from behind a metal partition, ragged trench coat and broken glasses being the only things distinguishing him from the grumpy old grunkle Wirt had previously encountered. Well, apart from the lack of stomach fat, he added in hindsight.

“You have thirty seconds to prove that you are not a threat before I blast you from my lab.”

The man had pulled out a pulsing, glowing, very sci-fi looking gun. Wirt’s paralyzed mind could only formulate that thought before it went as blank as his police record. Dipper, fortunately much more attuned to these kinds of situations than he was, stepped between him and the gun without any hesitation.

“I checked, they’re clean! They went through some sort of time vortex in the woods, and they just need help!”

“They?”

“My little brother Greg.” Wirt squeaked out.

“He’s upstairs with Mabel.”

The man didn’t move for a few seconds, before finally letting his gaze and arm fall with a sigh. 

“I do wish you told me before bringing people down here, Dipper.”

He turned around and beckoned the two teens. They followed him, their footsteps and the occasional beep of machines the only things interrupting the silence.

“Well I wish you would come up to see us more often.” Wirt heard Dipper whisper. 

Behind the partition lay an even larger room, and lights blinded Wirt not so much by their brightness than by their sheer number and colour range. A confusing array of whirring, beeping and screens were set out in the room, as well as a puzzlingly empty wall at the far end of the room. The two other people present navigated around the various machines with ease, stepping over wires and ducking under pipes. Fearing that his natural clumsiness will, as of always, get the better of him, he decided to take the longer yet safer route following the monitors lined up against the wall. He still managed to trip and nearly fall flat on his face, though.

He finally got to the clear spot where the boy and his grunkle were waiting for him. They had struck up a conversation interesting enough so that they hadn’t noticed his little incident earlier on, and seemed so deep in it that they barely acknowledged his presence.

“So that’s all I know for now, anyway. Is there anything you can do about it? ”

The older man cleared a chair and sat down. He seemed to have gained a few years in the short amount of time that he had been gone, the blue light from the nearest monitor not doing anything to help the pallor of his face. 

Dipper walked up to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it was irritably swatted away as the man regained his vigour. 

“Look, Dipper. I made it clear with you. Unless absolutely necessary, I don’t want to deal with either demons or other dimensions. If it can help you in any way, I can tell you this looks awfully like an interdimensional wormhole, and for some reason, these kids were spewed back up in their home-dimension after a few years. But that place, it is somewhere where time is dramatically slower than here. They’re very lucky to have not popped back up after the sun died, or something like that.”

“But what I’m asking you is if there is any way they can go back through the wormhole to their own time.”

The man sighed, and looked up to Wirt.

“Kid, unless Dipper’s friend shows up again, I think that your chances of getting back are _very_ slim. Thing is, I know these portals, they are dangerous, and don’t hang around long. If it was only fuelled by Gravity Falls’ natural strangeness, I doubt it’s still out there. And even if it is, it would probably be closed on the other side. I mean, on your time’s side. They are usually only one-way. There is something that I’m curious about though. How did it appear on your side? Do you remember what happened just before you went through? Or were you in a place where supernatural occurrences were sighted?” 

Wirt had sat down on the floor, not caring about the dirt. He would have swayed and fallen if he hadn’t done so. The grunkle kept his gaze on him nonetheless, expecting an answer.

“FORD!” Dipper roared. “If Mable, no, even _Stan_ was here, they would have punched you. How could you be so cold? “

“Dipper…” 

“I know why, you’re holed up here day after day, that short supernatural-hunting trip you had with Stan was just a façade, a pretence at getting better…”

“DIPPER!”

The humming of hard drives was the only thing heard along Wirt’s quiet sobs. He had buried his face in his knees; embarrassment and despair were flooding him. The last few days had really taken a toll on him, even though he had tried to keep it to himself. All the time spent in the Unknown, learning that he was now decades ahead of his time, and of course everything leading up to it: the stress about Sara, the whole Halloween cassette business, and last but not least  _Jason Funderberker_ . 

The burning in his cheeks only peaked when a pair of arms wrapped around him, a lot like he had done with Greg that time with the bear. Even though he knew he should feel awkward about it, he gradually relaxed into the hug. He was a rather tactile person, even if he would never admit it to anybody. It took him quite some time to calm down, his chocked cries finally receding when Dipper started rocking him gently.

He wiped the last of the snot and tears on his sleeve, while Dipper released his hold. Through red-rimmed eyes, he finally looked up to Ford’s unwavering gaze. 

“I… well Dipper could… could have told you… I guess I…interr...rrupted before you could get to that part… but I think… I think we drowned. I…I mean I don’t know, maybe w…we died, but…”

Ford got up, his grim, stony expression as fixed as ever.

“And it was Halloween. I think it’s probably you, or your brother who opened the portal. You were desperate, you wanted to survive, you wanted to protect each other, and you escaped using the only way you could, instinctively. Dipper, is there anything else that you picked up that could have weakened the passage?”

“Yes, they were near a cemetery.”

“Well, that confirms the theory, then. Now we have to figure out how you came back.”

They stayed in thought, each prying through what they knew of the supernatural and the events surrounding the disappearance of Wirt and Greg.

“Well, when we were over on the… other side? I think it was called the Unknown. Anyway, we defeated this monster, or forest spirit, called the Beast; it had everyone in its grip, it was feared everywhere we went. Anyway, we extinguished its soul, and I managed to save Greg, and maybe Beatrice, I never got to see her as a human, in the end… Maybe that’s how we got back through?”

“It’s possible. What’s sure is one of you two has a very strong magical or whatever-energy-you-wish-to-call-it influence, and it’s what brought you through both times.”

“I’ll go and get that tome on demons and spirits; we need to look this thing up.”

“Good thinking. If it is anywhere near as strong as Bill was, it could have taken advantage of the break a few times before, and maybe hitched a ride with these two as well.”

“I told you, I performed the ritual! They’re clean!”

“Fragments aren’t always detectable straight away, the ritual is just a temporary measure so that nothing big manifests as soon as they get here. We'll need to set up something more powerful now that they're here. And I want to find out which one of them has that magical connection, anyway. I trust you to set it up correctly, Dipper."

"Fine. The one from Journal 2?"

"Yes, and do it here. Make it large as well, so that they have enough space to sit down. It might take a while, like, the rest of an afternoon."

He then turned back to Wirt.

"Should I bring some food down maybe?" he said in a small voice.

"No, it might interfere with the spell. You should have a snack before we start incanting, though. I also suggest that you do something about your brother, if he's anything as energetic as Mabel."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Ok, I'll walk you back to the lift."

They did so, taking the same route Wirt had before. This time, even though he wasn't as concentrated as earlier on, he managed not to trip and damage anything. When they reached the elevator, the man lent over to say something to him before sending him off. 

"Look, kid. You can always ask Dipper, Mabel, or even Wendy and Soos to help you break the news to your brother. You don't need to go through this alone; we've had some bad stuff happen to us as well. Just keep in mind that Dipper is a very good person to have on your side in these kinds of situations. He’s a person of steadfast determination, a born leader, and even though he still has a long way to go, he’s already an expert on most things paranormal. It must be something in our genes. Don' forget to grab a snack!"

The doors shut.

“But the snack was supposed to be for you.” Wirt whispered, before the lift shot up towards the gift shop.[1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I'm really fond of the "fade to black" way of ending chapters, so much so that it is really difficult for me to write them any other way. Do tell me if it gets on your nerves.


	6. This isn’t fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been quite a long time, so here’s a short chapter in Greg’s POV, just to see what he was doing while his brother was mopping around in Chapter 5. The story is now being translated into French, for those who are interested.

Greg was having a blast.

How could anyone be as fun to play with as Mabel? He asked himself. The answer was: no one. She was incredibly inventive, knew which make-believe games he liked the most, and understood Jason Funderburker nearly as well as he did. The said frog was now in the company of Waddles, being carted around on his back. He had himself fashioned a horse out of a mop and a very glittery cardboard equine head Mabel had specially made for the occasion.

“Thou chicken? Thou not dare joust with the great Mabel of Flebberbürger?”

“How dare thee insult me, the great Greg of Hamburger! [1] Thou shalt never insult me again, scoundrel!”

And with that, Greg charged Mabel with his deadly cardboard sword. She blocked his blow with the ease of practice using her cushion-headed, sticker spiked mace.

“Thou are no match for me, as willy as you think that you are. Not even the… ARGHHH!”

“Magical robot horse powers activated! You weren’t expecting that, weren’t you, evil sparkles overlord!”

“No, but would you expect your most trusted companion to turn his tables on you?”  She said, grasping the mop and playfully taping Greg’s head with it.

“NO! Fiddlesticks, how could you? Fortunately, somebody has been waiting in shadows, biding his time, waiting for this kind of dire situation. BAT-FROG!! Help me!!”

Jason Funderburker chose that particular moment to jump off of Waddles’ back, straight at Mabel’s face. It happened so quickly, that she had no other option than to accept the fact that he had won the battle, but not the war. Indeed, they followed up quickly with an all-out tickle contest.

“Mabel, time-travelling kid, I need your help with the gift shop. Soos has disappeared, so Wendy needed to take one of the tour groups. I’ll take care of the next one, but keep the till and an eye out for any loose-pocketed idiots who may come in.”

“No probs, Grunkle Stan, let me just make sure Waddles and Jason Funderburker are ok before coming over.”

They halted the competition, calling it quits, and then went through the “Employees Only” signed door. Greg stayed at the threshold in wonder, gawking at the diversity of the small shop. He snapped out of it when Mabel picked him up (not without a little effort) and spun him around, to finally land him on the counter. His feet sticking out over its edge and giggling madly, he climbed off the surface.

Mabel made sure that no buses had parked outside in the small amount of time that they had been larking about, then asked Greg:

“Do you want to have a look at the hilariously fake Wonderful Wonders and Creepy Critters of the Mystery Shack? None of it is even remotely credible, but the tourists fall for it, and it’s interesting what things Grunkle Stan can come up with.”

“Yeah! Is there any stuffed magical tigers?”

“You really like those, don’t you? I’m in charge of the maintenance and prop design during the summers here now, so maybe I can secretly sneak this past the Prop Regulation Commission without getting caught. It isn’t such a bad idea to have a stuffed magical tiger, anyway; it’s awesome and wonder-inspiring enough for a tourist trap.”

They then walked around the halls packed with tacky taxidermy hybrids, as well as more recent, nicer-looking exhibits that Mabel was proud to call her own. They were about three quarters of the way through the set route before a bell could be heard, signalling the arrival of a new client.

“Sorry Greg, Stan will take back in meals the money that I failed to make if I let slip this opportunity!”

Mabel rushed off and plastered on a metallic smile before passing through the swing door that led to the gift shop. Greg stayed in the exposition corridor a bit, admiring the newly constructed Cornicorn the Second and the cleaned, yet somewhat glittery, Jackalope head.

“May I interest you in these fabulous mystery Shack postcards? They’re all hand-painted, and only cost twenty dollars each!”

Oohs and Ahs could be heard through the cheap walls. Greg waited for the cling of cash to subside before joining Mabel, who was having trouble closing the till when he finally appeared.

“Greg! I was wondering whether one of the exhibits came to life while I was doing business here, and had eaten you up!”

Greg saluted Mabel, a most serious expression on his face.

“Colonel Mabel, all unauthorized life forms have been sent back to sleep! We will be safe for yet another night!”

Mabel mimicked the salute.

“You have done a good job, Greg. You may now rest, and…”

The snack machine in the corner of the room rattled, before sliding to one side. The dark space beyond attracted Greg’s curiosity like Soos to a nacho, and he stepped forward to take a closer look. Out stepped Wirt, eyes a little red. As soon as he caught sight of Greg, he bent down, and unexpectedly hugged him. This was getting more and more common, and Greg enjoyed it until he heard these words:

“Greg, I’ve got something important to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This actually means “a person from the town of Hamburg, Germany”. Another German denonym that is also the name of a food, the “Berliner”, is a kind of sweet treat (anybody remember JFKs’ speech after the fall of the Berlin Wall? Nobody? Ah well, look it up, there’s a fun history fact for you). Mabel’s is made up, though.
> 
> And that ties the two parts together quite neatly, I hope. 
> 
> The fanart I promised is on its way, I already put my (tacky) one up on Quotev as the story’s image, as well as on Fanfiction and Wattpad. I’m waiting for Loose Cappers to give theirs in, but I don’t know when I’ll be seeing them again. Their art is really good compared to mine, basically because they use pens and things that can be scanned, unlike pencil, which is reflective.


	7. This isn’t the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a good, yet strange reason why I’ve been so long. It’s true though!  
> Where I'm living now, the last few weeks we’ve had hot weather. I mean, very hot weather (my DVD boxes melted a bit). The only computer I have access to is old, and heats up easily. So, every time I tried to write on it, I WOULD BURN MY HANDS ON THE KEYBOARD. 
> 
> There, I hope that's a good enough reason. Enjoy the product of hours of suffering.

Dipper and Mabel had both dragged a chair from the kitchen and had positioned themselves on either side of the kitchen's door. The gift shop's sign had been turned to the “Sorry, we’re closed” side on common assent, the twins not even having to discuss it. Protecting the brother's privacy, while still having an excuse to eavesdrop on them, seemed to be the most appropriate thing to do. Now, stationed silently and with stony faces, they listened in to the quiet conversation. Neither of the brothers broke out fully, but Wirt's strained voice and Greg's unnaturally serious tone were enough to convey the stress the two boys were going through.

When the younger brother's voice started to crack, Dipper had to stop Mabel from leaping out of her seat to rescue him. He held her down and whispered sense into her as Greg's voice gradually returned to normal.

They stayed there so long that Stanford actually came up to check on them, in case the stuffed wolf's head had suddenly decided to come back to life and corner them in the kitchen. Dipper got up to stop him before he came too close, and dragged him by the sleeve into the hall for some privacy.

“Could you just give them time to sort themselves out? Please, this is important.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Dipper, the circle's drawn and everything’s ready to start the analysis...”

“Just give them a few minutes, they need to get over this, and decide what they’re going to do next.”

Sighing, Ford unfolded his arms.

“Fine, but they have to be down there in less than an hour.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Well, try to make it so. I've got research to get back to.”

He made his way back to the gift shop. Dipper watched him retreat with a murderous glare, yet trying to understand the man. He knew how studies as deep and enthralling as his could affect your relation with other people; he had experienced it himself, being confronted with the choice last year. His sister or studies? He chose to remain with his family in the end, but even if he had made a different decision on that day, he would have still stayed in contact with her, wouldn’t he?

He knew that he couldn’t compare their relation with Grunkle Stan's and Ford's, theirs being by far way more bumpy than their own. He tried to convince himself that he would have never sunken as low as him, but it kept coming back to the same basic facts. Ford was too similar to him in too many ways, and he was the incarnation of that other choice he had turned down. In consequence, he had turned into a different person, seeing the flaws where before he had only seen a gleaming sheen of brilliance.

He returned to his seat, slightly calmed by his quick mental spiel. Mabel had, as always, read the conflicting emotions on his face as easily as she could knit a pig's sweater.

“Are you all right?” she whispered to him.

He tried a weak smile in her direction.

“I’m fine. I just needed to figure a few things out, but I'm better now.”

“If you say so.” she replied, unconvinced.

They stayed there quietly until a crashing was heard from the gift shop, followed by a pained howl which sounded suspiciously like : “My money! My precious money !”

They simultaneously leaped up to placate their Grunkle's impending mental breakdown.

The man had been put to bed with a wet towel over his searing hot forehead when the brothers from another timescape made their appearance. Greg was eagerly hugged by a worried Mabel as soon as he set foot into the room, but Wirt was quickly caught up moments later in the wool-covered arms. Even Dipper had been recruited, without even having wanted to in the first place. They finally formed a huge bundle of love and compassion that remained there for several minutes, to the girl's satisfaction.[1]

With Greg on her shoulders (Wirt couldn’t believe her strength. Does she do weightlifting?) and arm linked with a squirming Wirt's, Mabel made her way towards the gift shop, after Dipper had explained to her that they needed to go down to see Ford. He himself went back into the kitchen to grab food of some description. When he got there, he found Wendy sitting on the counter. She was obviously waiting for him to come in, and she handed him a few packets of Doritos [2] before leaving without a word. She always seemed to know exactly what had to be done, including when it was best to remain silent. Even if Doritos alone were a bit dry.

Dipper found Mabel waiting alone outside the lift doors. It was perfectly understandable, the hellish device always having been way too small to fit more than a goat and a Fiddleburg at once. She gave him an encouraging smile, one that she rarely used. The wide, silly one suited her better, she claimed. She took half the food off him, although they were as light as a packet of crisp substitutes usually were.

A distant rumble was finally heard, signalling the return of the lift and their ticket to joining the two brothers. Once the code typed back in and the snack machine to one side, Dipper bowed to his sister, and in a rare display of silliness, welcomed her through the dark doorway with a “Ladies first!”.

* * *

 

The doors opened on an empty anteroom, but conversation could be heard further on, in the room which housed the vortex last summer. As they got closer, the words got clearer, and started to sound suspiciously like an argument.

“No, you cannot bring your pet into the circle with you.”

“But Jason Funderburker is not a pet! He is a very important lucky frog, and family as well!” a younger voice could be heard to say.

“Besides, he will get lonely if he has to stay watching us for the rest of the afternoon.”

Dipper strolled in and cleared his throat.

“And haven’t you considered the possibility that the frog might have brought back been possessed as well? I mean, I managed to control something as small as a sock puppet, so why not a frog?”

A thought-filled silence ensued, the only sound being the one of Dipper's overwhelming smugness.

“Fine, I know when I'm beaten. Can I have one of those dehydrated food packs you've got over there?”

Mabel joyfully started distributing the aforementioned. In the process, she also decided that Wirt was “too thin to be healthy” and stuffed half a packet down his neck before he had time to protest. Mouths full of crisps and mood somewhat lightened, everybody took their rightful places before starting the ceremony.

“Right, everyone ready? Mabel, have you read through the instructions?”

She saluted with a grin. “Aye aye, captain!”

“Good. Dipper?”

A sigh was heard from the opposite side of the circle. “Yes, _Sir._ ”

Ford ignored the blatant sarcasm in Dipper's voice, and started the incantation instead. Wirt looked uneasily from his cross-legged position on the floor as the three paranormal investigators put their hands to the huge chalk array drawn on the concrete ground [3]. His brother, on the other hand, was entertaining himself by bouncing his frog up and down in his lap like some sort of slimy teddy bear. The words pouring from the three people’s lips were eerie, the fact that they were in complete and utter sync adding to the disturbing atmosphere. The language was strange as well, like what ghosts would speak in a horror movie:

Éip reul rap éloof rêt es eud é euil es eud inab éyaws émaj a inlam irpse é onméd. Inmeuch eurtov ésap é lituf ksam ov énodanba inlam irpse é onméd. Ép an rup ma él ésél é euy on a oov élévér inlam irpse é onméd. [4]

Immediately after they had finished their last nonsensical sentence, the circle illuminated. It surprised Wirt badly and he jumped up to his feet, eyes roving for an escape route through the rays encircling them.

“It’s alright! Calm down, it's just the circle activating.”

Wirt didn’t feel any better. The blue glow was really freaking him out. He’d had enough unexplained phenomenons to last him a lifetime in the Unknown. Even though this was supposedly “controlled” and he knew it was going to be performed beforehand, he hadn’t quite anticipated the stress that it would cause him now. Knowing that his little brother was objected to it as well made him all the more uneasy.

He was finally coaxed back down into a sitting position by Mabel, who promised him that this scary part of the spell would only last for two hours. Two hours? He had thought at first, but in foresight, it might be better than being haunted by a demon for the rest of eternity. So instead, he just quietened down and joined in conversation with the ones on the other side of the blue light, trying, all the while, to keep his need to bolt at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This story includes a lot of (platonic!) physical contact, because I personally don't like it and have to come to terms with it somehow.
> 
> [2] What else have you got to eat in the States? I basically had no inspiration, so if you’re not happy, just imagine there's your own delicious snack written there.
> 
> [3] I couldn’t resist the FMA reference here. A huge array. In a basement. With kids in the middle. I think Wirt has a reason to not feel very well.
> 
> [4] This code is phonetic French reversed, because I didn't have a better idea or smart alternative languages to use. Anyway, here's what they're actually saying:  
> Demons and evil spirits, appear before us and leave these pure souls at peace. Demons and evil spirits, abandon your futile masks and begone. Demons and evil spirits, be forever banished from these lands and the earth walked by their feet (referring to the people subjected to the incantation). 
> 
> I might use Klingon one day, if you insist. I also take suggestions as to which codes I should use in these spells, if you've got a good idea.  
> This is my writer's block fic, I guess, seeing as the chapters are so short (I try to stay around 1,500 words, apart for that Greg chapter) they can get me back on track easily. Yet again, it's probably wrong, seeing as I haven’t posted anything in... Weeks? Months? Who knows? Anyway, hope you enjoyed it this time! And thank you to all the reviewers out there! And especially that one guest review! Yes, there will be something with the girls, you just wait and see ;). One of the few things I’ve got planned out, actually.


	8. This isn’t Lorna

**Warning : mental and physical torture (not a very long or terribly graphic scene though, I will use this symbol: "000" before and after it so that you can skip it if you wish), a scary-ish ghost-like scene, as well as a hurt frog.**

"I am a dinosaur, and you are my trusty pterodactyl companion! ROAR! "

The sudden loud noise woke Wirt with a jump at his brother's unexpected animalistic cry. He started so badly that his hat flew over the edge of the circle to land near a very unimpressed-looking Stanford.

"Careful! You could have smudged the chalk." At Wirt's quizzical look, he attempted to better explain. "Try not to do that, the circle is still active, even if the glowing's gone. If you break it, a spirit could get out or be attracted by the magical discharge and wreak havoc on the lab."

To Mabel's amusement, Wirt blinked wearily and slowly, just like any cuddly baby animal would if awoken, then immediately force-fed knowledge in the same way Ford had just done. Dipper looked up disinterestedly from the computer a whirring machine was attached to. The thing seemed as cryptic and complicated as everything else that cluttered up the hidden basement, as well as sci-fi-ish in its own way.

"What does the sensor say, Dipper?"

"Measures are stable, but we've got a slight disturbance which may or may not be a fragment."

Ford walked over to the teen and peered over his shoulder.

"Alright, move over so I can determine which one of them it is. Kids, can you move away from each other for a moment? Being all huddled up will not help the machine."

Wirt groaned and shuffled a bit closer to the still-slightly-blue chalk mark on the ground. Greg just stayed where he was, completely absorbed in some sort of game with his frog.

"Now we will conquer the mighty mountain of evil docodons!" [1]

"Can you be quiet for a moment? I'm trying to concentrate."

Greg completely ignored the demand and continued on his merry way to the evil docodon mountain, now including Mabel in his game. She was some kind of prehistoric unicorn, judging by what the dialogue they exchanged revealed of their make-believe world.

Wirt was very grateful for that, she could keep him off his back while he dropped back off again… [2]

_Her beautiful face, once so kind and delicate, suddenly stretched out into the most horrifying of masks. The transformation was so quick that he wondered if it was all just some fantasy invented by his tired brain. She was her, and then she was not._

_Yet it was true._

_Fangs dripping with the anticipation of destruction and claws likewise eager, she reached towards him in his still unmoving state. Paralysed, he could not react to something so terrifying. He had experienced fear before. Fear of failing. Fear for his life. Fear for others. Yet this was new._

_He had never feared someone he had trusted to turn on him in such a way._

_As it came closer to him, only his lips managed to leave their hopeless state and form a single word._

_"Lorna."_

"Lorna!"

For a second, there was silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

"Mabel, Dipper! Get the sensor! Quick! Do not let them out of the circle!"

Greg had to throw the frog away from him as the ringing coming from it became louder and louder, before stabilizing at the pitch of a fire alarm. The amphibian was even more terrified, its small form quaking as much as such an animal would be able to. Unfortunately, the animal had flown from the youngster's hands onto a nearby keyboard, which hadn't been included in the chalk circle.

The machines had been removed from the close vicinity of the powerful magic, and everybody apart from Wirt, who lunged to cover his brother, had frozen. The rays that had previously emerged from the circle at the beginning of the spell had made themselves apparent again, slowly twisting up to the concrete ceiling like wispy incense-smoke, before pouring down when it met with the solid grey matter. It then converged towards the unlucky frog, which couldn't do much apart from croak miserably. A glowing presence fed on the magic, which Wirt and Greg knew was the bell.

"Break the circle."

"But Ford, wouldn't that…"

"Just do it, Dipper!"

The whispered conversation finished with a huff and Dipper's quick footsteps towards the glowing ward.

"Guys, I'm very sorry, but this is going to hurt."

Wirt didn't have the time to protest before Dipper wetted a finger with saliva and carefully dragged it across one of the runes.

000

His brain went into overdrive, the thoughts coming and going so much faster than they were supposed to. Every single memory he had ever experienced was analysed, dissected, then thrown to one side faster than they had ever been before. The whole experience was horrifying, nightmares he had had as a child coming back as vividly as if he was still there, every single doubt and emotion he had ever known was turned on its head and reviewed in a sickly realistic way.

This is what it must feel like, those few microseconds you experience before a violent death.

But then this thought was obliterated when the second rune was wiped from the circle's edge.

Barely an instant had passed between both actions, but it seemed like an eternity. Greg's shivering form was still bundled in his arms, and he hoped beyond hope later on that he had shielded him from the pure horror that ensued.

His organs felt like they were rapidly being dunked in magma and liquid nitrogen, over and over. [3] The physical pain was so intense that he couldn't even manage a scream, and instead lay there, completely immobile to an outside observer, eyes open on a world only he could see.

All his thoughts had screeched to a halt as quickly as they had galloped onwards earlier. Everything was numb, his whole body naturally combatting the intense sensation of pain. Only when the young twin's thumb dragged across the third rune did he let go, an ear-piercing screech rivalling the ringing of the bell. It was one of relief rather than pain, contrary to the thoughts of anybody else in the room, as suddenly the stress on his body and mind was released.

000

Everybody rushed over to him as with that final scream, all magic still present in the ward or floating loose around the laboratory disappeared without a trace, apart for the still-glowing belly of the shocked frog. Stanford was the first to leave the brothers' side, just taking the time to check their pulse and flashing a light in their eyes. He got up slowly, leaving the bundle of kids on the ground, and making his way towards the cowering amphibian.

The sound that had been coming from it earlier had disappeared along with the boy's scream, but the light from the frog's stomach was still strong, throbbing in time with what Ford assumed was its heartbeat. He was about three feet away from the computer keyboard, but he froze when he saw the glow get stronger again. Suddenly, the frog flew off to the middle of the room, obviously being pulled by an unseen force rather than hopping there of his own free will.

The animal floated there for a second, before a large quantity of magic left him in a single, bubble-shaped wave. The wave reformed into a sickly yellow skull which melted through the ceiling, and then was gone.

Jason Funderburker fell to the floor, completely inert. Mabel caught him just before he could touch the ground, little legs hanging out between her fingers.

"JASON FUNDERBURKER!"

Another set of hands grabbed at the frog. They were more harsh than they were meant to be, but it was out of sheer desperation that the little boy held his pet close to his ear, then to his chest as he sobbed quietly in relief at the tiny heartbeat. Wirt got shakily to his feet and joined Mabel in the soothing of his brother.

Dipper walked over to Ford, fumbling and tripping over his own legs. His face was blank, as if he had lost a part of his soul to the grotesque hovering skull. The scientist and his assistant looked up at the reinforced ceiling. The man tightened his grip on the young boy's shoulder, stating as he did:

"This was all a big mistake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Its some sort of small nocturnal mammal of the Jurassic period. Don’t ask how Greg would know that, but the only explanation I can give is that some words just stick with you. 
> 
> [2] I know, Wirt sleeps a lot. But he’s got a lot of stuff on his shoulders, and wouldn’t you be exhausted by days of living rough in the woods, and having to run away from hordes of monsters all the time? 
> 
> [3] Should I up the rating? It seems pretty extreme as far as torture goes. Yet again, Wirt isn’t a tough cookie, so I’m even wondering myself if he isn’t exaggerating. I just don’t know the guy well enough *shrugs*
> 
> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: I was looking through the ao3 archive to see if any other stories resembled this one, or if it could be flagged for copycat reasons or stuff, and it turns out there is one series (Yep, a whole series, known as the "Mystery Best Friends" series by skimmingthesurface and SylviaW1991 )which is too close to this story in many different ways to not be mentioned here. There really are a lot of similarities, so I will try and contact the authors to see if I should classify this work as "inspired by…" They posted their story before mine, so they should get full credit for whatever ideas I seem to have taken from them (even though I read the series after starting this and getting the main plot ideas, go figure).
> 
> I would like to stress the point though that even though the stories' character interactions (that's the main problem) are similar, mine and their stories are centred on completely different ideas. Their focus is romance (to Pinescone shippers I recommend), and mine is time-travel and its potential psychological and social impacts on the traveller. My fic, once closer to this one scene that I've been thinking over for weeks, will diverge and follow its own personal course. Thank you all for having read this story so far anyway, the number of views is simply outstanding! (Over 1,000 on Fanfiction.net!)  
> And sorry this was a bit late on ao3, I had probleems with computers and such.


	9. This isn’t stolen property

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, fell out of the fandom for a bit there. Anyway, I’m back, short chapter again, soz, but I will do better next time. I had this brilliant new idea for a SnK fic (yeah I know, I should finish off the two other chaptered works that I’ve got on the go, but you know how it goes…). If you’re into that fandom, I’ll start posting sometime soon (maybe). Keep an eye out for updates on this story though, I’m slow to update, but hey! I get there. Eventually.

Grunkle Stan strolled in through the “Employees Only” door with a huge grin on his face, dollar signs flashing in his eyes as he flicked through a heavy leather wallet. He hadn’t been incapacitated for long, the thought of even more money rolling off in the packed tour buses giving him all the motivation he needed to pull himself away from death’s door. Once Wendy and Soos had been given tasks that wouldn’t interrupt him in his master swindling plans (“Yes, Soos, I really do need to know the exact amount of splinters you can get out of a rotten piece of wood. I’m thinking of entering the toothpick market. It’s a booming business, and I want to get in on it before anyone else does.”), he had entered the role he had been playing for as long as he could remember.

At first, it seemed that Dipper and Mabel’s severe neglect of the gift shop had set the tone for the rest of the day. Kids laughed at him while in the middle of very convincing speeches, parents looked unconvinced by the same speeches, and at the very end of the day a bus-ful of what looked suspiciously like lawyers and other troublesome men of the State parked in front of the Mystery (S)Hack, one of the only places in the United States at that time where they could have made a fortune just by looking at the state of the floorboards. Fortunately, none of them even bothered ungluing their gazes from their phones as Stan delivered his normal spiel, sweat soaking through the back of his jacket.

It was as he was tiredly waving goodbye to this one last group that he spotted the little brown square lying on the floor. Instantly, recognition of what it was kicked in, then the consequences of what picking it up would entail. Above all, he did _not_ want one of those lawyer-people to come back to recuperate what they had lost. It would be the end of him, unless he started running _now_.

His greed won over his fear though, when he saw that the wallet was a battered old thing anyway. No high-flying company lawyer would carry around such a horrible piece of fabric in their pockets. He picked it up, turning it over carefully, and undid the Velcro tab.

Inside were quite a few dollar bills, all with the face of Benjamin Franklin on them. Stan gasped, flipped through again to make sure the fever he was suffering from earlier on wasn’t acting up on him. He double-checked everything, and even brought out his magnifying glass that he usually used for what he liked to call his “ultra-realistic approach on the representation of worth in the modern society” (now on display in you sucker’s wallets!), but he found nothing amiss with the bills. Either the guy who lost this was a master forger, or else he had mistaken his normal wallet for his mugger’s wallet [1] in his rush to get the green paper out of sight.

This was confirmed when Stan found an expired driver’s licence and a card saying “Nice try!” in the lining of the beaten-up piece of leather.

Oh yes, nice try indeed, matey.

Seeing as the object contained no documents which were actually valid pieces of identity, it should be safe to assume that they would not come looking for it. It didn‘t really matter, after all, this was a mugger’s wallet, they would have expected to lose it sooner or later. Stan was extremely grateful though, that it was at his hands rather than at any others. His crimes were victimless, at least.

He practically ripped the sweaty dress jacket off his shoulders and collapsed in front of the unlit TV. He glanced at the axolotl, and then went back to gloating over the small object he had been so happy to find. This entertained him for some time before he got bored and put it down on the dinosaur’s skull which served as an end table, kicked back, and flicked on the old movies channel. He only did this when he was certain that there was no one else around to overhear him. “The Duchess Approves” had left a lasting impression on him, which of course he would never admit to anybody, and which he tried to find in similar films on one of Gravity Falls’ notoriously bad channels.

The black and white images flickered to life on the old cathode screen, and the image of the beautiful   Sturly Stembleburgiss jumped out at him, in one of those drama-filled moments that were oh so beautiful to watch. Tears sprung to Stan’s eyes. The doily on the skull end table was the closest things at hand which vaguely resembled a handkerchief, and would unfortunately from then onwards never regain its previous name again. About a quarter of an hour passed as he drowned in the beautiful story of Colette and her star-crossed secret lover Henri, before movement was detected by the sharp-eared man.

He heard the sound of the lift door to the lab sliding open, a couple of shuffling footsteps, then the hum of the machine going back down to get its next load. Quickly, he shut off the idiot’s lantern [2] before anybody could suspect what he did when he was alone in the house. With Colette’s weeping gone, he could distinguish the sounds coming from the gift shop more clearly. Muffled sobbing was the thing that first struck him, maybe a small child, and the soothing voice of someone a little older trying to reassure him. With a sigh, Stan rubbed the palms of his hands over his face, glancing at the wallet sitting next to him to try and cheer himself up. It didn’t work.

He slumped even deeper into the chair. He mumbled nearly inaudibly, slightly desperately to the stale living-room air:

“Really Sixer, what have you done now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] For those who didn’t know, a mugger’s wallet is a decoy some people use to deter, well, muggers and pickpockets from taking the larger amounts of money they would keep in their real wallet elsewhere on their body. I only learned of this method recently, and I found it rather practical actually. 
> 
> [2]Is this a family expression, I wonder? Do other people use it? I like it, anyway. 
> 
> Still no news from the authors of "Mystery Best Friends", I'll take that as an all clear. It's diverging from their plot now anyway, so here you go!  
> Hope you enjoyed the read, even though it was a little short.


	10. This isn’t a romance novel

The meal would have been delicious, if anybody had had enough appetite to actually eat it. The most which had been done so far was Dipper picking up his fork and poking the moussaka [1] slightly with one of the prongs, but not actually lifting any of the mush to his lips. Wendy had, as always, jumped in at the right minute and had magically made the food appear out of nowhere, before setting off back home to help her father rebuild the house (a daily task). 

Stan, feeling like a strict housewife for some reason, had insisted that everybody, that is all the family members and house guests, were to sit at the table, and if not eat, inform people who weren't already of the current situation. An exception had been made for Greg though, who was allowed to sit at a separate table where a shoe-box had been prepared for Jason Funderburker. The frog was still alive and breathing, but nowhere near as active as usual, and seemed to be immersed in a deep sleep.

All in all, the mood was pretty gloomy. Mabel didn’t even bother drawing silly faces in her food, and the whole table was eerily silent, like after a funeral. Stan could not take it anymore. It was just too much; he needed to get some explanations,  _now._

“Right, I’ve had it, spit it out, all of you. What happened down in the basement, apart from the frog getting hurt? Why do you all look like you’ve eaten coffee omelette at Greasy’s Diner?”

He regretted his words as soon as the oldest kid, the one which he had never seen without a frown gracing his features, looked up at him with eyes nearly overflowing with tears and the most miserable look on his face he had ever observed on a person that age. He was about to tell him all about it, and he was certain that the kid would not manage to get through it without sputtering and hiccupping his way through the tale, when Dipper’s voice rang through the room.

“We had problems with a spirit which was haunting the frog, and we had to break the circle in which Wirt was so that it wouldn’t get too much power. The spirit escaped, the frog nearly died, Wirt went to hell and back. That’s all there is to know.”

Stan stood stunned at these words, and looked at each of the kids in wonder. All this was way above him. He might have been able rebuild the portal and deal with various supernatural creatures while living in Gravity Falls, but as soon as he had come back from his expedition around the world with Ford, he had not wanted to set eyes on one of the weird things ever again, unless they were stuffed and mounted [2]. But these kids, they had gone through much more than he could ever imagine, be it willingly or not. He would have wanted to help them, protect them from these things, but he wouldn’t have known how to if he had wanted. Except, maybe…

“Hey,” he said, attracting everyone’s stares. “What is the highest priority here? Fixing this frog, catching the spirit thing?”

Everyone gave him a blank look, but Ford leant a thoughtful chin on his six-fingered hand.

“If we catch the spirit, it’ll probably help in reanimating the frog. It seems to have picked up a piece of its soul when it left its body, so maybe that would be the answer to its coma.”

“All right. Dipper, Mabel, finish your meals and get to work looking for the thing. Search everywhere where it’s likely to be: graveyards, the lake, anywhere where spirits normally hang out.”

The energetic tone to his voice, the one he usually used when he needed work to be done in the gift shop or on the tours, had worked surprisingly well. Mabel perked up immediately and wolfed down her food, while Dipper snatched up two pieces of bread and crammed as much of the meal as he could in the makeshift sandwich [3]. Slightly disgusting, but effective.

He then turned to the two wretched brothers, and mentally cracked his knuckles in anticipation. The twins he knew, but it was going to be difficult to get these to do anything. Still, he liked a challenge.

“Wirt, right? Do you know this ghost thing? What’s its name? What does it like? Come on, kid, spit it out! Can’t you see that we’re in a hurry?”

He blinked slightly, returning from his daydream, and looked a little panicked when he finally processed what was being asked of him. Good, that’s what they needed.

“Er, Lorna, the spirit of the…”

“Not me! Tell Sixer over there, can’t you see he’s the expert?”

Indeed, he had already pulled a notebook out of his trench coat pocket, and had a pencil poised over the paper, waiting for any information that would come his way. Stan looked at him in satisfaction: his brother had always been quick to catch on.

Finally, he brought his attention back to the youngest of the small meeting. He had only unglued his eyes from his pet when Stan had started throwing his loud orders about, but then returned to staring at him. It was as if he hoped that he could transfer a little energy, a little life through his gaze alone. It really was heart-breaking to watch.

“Hey, kid, don’t you want to help your big brother? Do you know anything that could help?” he asked, more softly then he had done with the others. He shook his head slightly, but apart from this didn’t seem to register his presence. 

“Well just stay there and tell us if anything happens, all right? We’ll get your frog back in no time, don’t worry,” he added, feeling a little uncomfortable as he did so. He had never been good with children younger than the twins, particularly when they were dealing with a loss of some sort. He will keep an eye on him anyway, he thought; make sure he eats something and stays warm and stuff, while the other kid was occupied anyhow.

He turned back to the other side of the kitchen, which was now teeming with activity, eagerly voiced opinions and bits of information being thrown about. Mabel had disappeared, but he heard someone pounding up the unsafe stairs, and assumed that it was her getting backpacks and pieces of equipment together. Dipper had taken up Ford’s task of questioning Wirt, who seemed more at ease with him rather than the older man. The paranormal specialist in question was pacing up and down the room, sometimes pausing to scribble on his notebook or to tell Dipper something of use in their expedition.

My work is over here, thought Stan, and he sat back down contently to finish off Wendy’s wonderful dish.

* * *

“Wirt, do you want to come with us?”

The question brought him back to reality, a place he had not been very attached to as of late. He looked at Mabel, confused, and then caught sight of the bundle of equipment in her arms. A jumper with a dog on it, a backpack filled with unknown contents, and was that a  _grappling hook_ sticking out from the front pocket?

“Well, erm, maybe? I…”

“Please, this is important. You can stay here and look after Greg, or you could come with us and help out, but you can’t just drift around aimlessly. It’s not healthy, you need something to keep your mind away from what happened earlier on and concentrate on the present.”

He had to admit that it would be nice to get away from the terrifying images in his brain right now, but he felt so  _tired_ . He didn’t think he could sleep either, but if he had to choose, he would rather stay and make sure that his brother was safe. If something happened to him while he was out hunting monsters he wasn’t even sure were there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He already had enough problems doing so from his trip in the Unknown, let alone today’s events.

“Greg needs me right now. I’m sorry, Mabel, but could you lend me a book? It’s the best thing I can do to keep myself active right now.”

She nodded, accepting his decision even though she didn’t agree with it. She was the kind of person who needed physical exercise when this sort of thing happened, a bit like her brother, and she couldn’t quite understand people who didn’t work the same way as she did. No matter, she thought, she’ll voice her discontent her own way.

“No preferences?” she asked, a hint of an evil grin on her lips.

“What?” answered Wirt, who had drifted off again.

“I asked you whether you had a preference book-wise.”

“Erm… no, whatever you think is good.”

She went up the stairs again, stifling a giggle. It is mean to play such a dirty trick on him in the state that he is, a voice in her head tried to reason, but another one, who was unfortunately much louder than the first, said:  _doitdoitit’llbesofunnydoit._

So, powered by concentrated mischief, she tore a paperback from under her mattress, ran back to the ground floor, slammed the book face down on the kitchen table and just as swiftly exited the house behind her great-uncle and brother.

Wirt was slightly confused by the whole process, sitting where he had been earlier on this morning, with only Greg and the inert frog in the room for company. He picked up the book, and took a few seconds to register the cover before putting it back down slowly and with a deep blush on his cheeks.

He understood now.

The book was “Wolfman Bare Chest".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]Way too delicious to not put in a fic. Sorry for those who don’t like aubergine.
> 
> [2]Urgh, why do I associate this sentence with that last picture in the Doctor Seuss’s story “Thidwick, The Big-Hearted Moose”? I liked the books as a kid, but now that I look back on them, they just seem… creepy. Sorry to have ruined your childhood. Maybe.
> 
> [3]Something I do when I’m in a hurry. Anything is good when cold and between two slices of bread. I know, it’s weird, but I’m a busy person.


	11. This isn’t scary

The heavy-duty torch weighed a ton in the bag that his sister had given him, and Dipper frowned as it dug into his ribs and basically slowed him down much more than he would have preferred. She had been right to pack it though, even if she had done so badly and against good boy-scout rules. [1] Dipper had once made that mistake in his early mystery-hunting days, setting out without the useful piece of equipment and only packing a lighter aluminium version, which didn’t survive the dunking in the lake that the kappas had given it.[2] From then on, he had taken to lugging the one with a heavier, waterproof casing, even though he did so unwillingly. Every single time he would return from an expedition, he would try to remember to get a better one once he had the opportunity, yet it seemed that there was always something to distract him from that one, simple task. The last time that that had happened had been yesterday, when they were charged with an unexpected pair of guests to bring home along with them.

Summer was a season where evenings were light, yet the number of rays escaping over the horizon were rapidly decreasing and the dusk shadows lengthening. For now though, he just had to focus on scanning the tombstones one by one, try to find something, anything that might have been out of place. He was alone in the eerie place, apart for the occasional call of some far-off bird from the closest trees. The fading light bode for both good and bad news. Good news was that spirits tended to be more visible in the dark than in daylight. Bad news was that they were stronger and more aggressive too. Add to that the fact that he needed to stop to pull the dreaded torch out as well, and you have the perfect prospects for a relaxing evening.

Dipper hesitated before pushing the gate to the graveyard, and only winced as when he finally did decide to push the rusting metal out of his path, it let out a screech akin to a badly-oiled haunted house door in any horror movie that knew  their business. Despite the number of similar expeditions he had been on, this sort of thing still freaked him out, particularly when he had nobody to put up a fearless façade for like his sister or if someone else was accompanying him. Normal ghosts weren’t so bad, but this had sounded too much like a _demon_ , and the only one he had ever faced had tried, and nearly succeeded, to make this dimension his plaything.

With another shudder for good measure, he pushed a rock over with his foot to keep the gate open, in case he needed to make a quick escape (even though against a demon, particularly if it was only a fraction as strong as Cipher had been, he knew that he wouldn’t stand much of a chance), before a realisation struck him. His Great-Uncle Ford had come along with them, even though it was as evident to him as it was to them that the thing they were going up against was dangerous. He had done so, even despite his reticent words earlier on today about him dabbling with other dimensions and demons. All the times he had lost his temper at the man now came back to him in a brief shower of doubt, before he shook them off. He had decided some time ago not to let such things take his concentration away from the task at hand, and instead made the quick and steel-strong decision to beg forgiveness from the man when all this was sorted. He had gotten cold and detached, but he still cared. That’s what counted the most.

Darkness was threatening to take over things completely now, so he swung the backpack down and pulled the torch out where it had been stuck between various unnecessary items that had obviously been thrown in the bag regardless to their utility (a mini-golf club, a few balls of yarn, a huggy-wuvvy tummy bundle… Mabel!). The thing glared it’s artificial light over the cemetery in a near clinical way, not helping his anxiousness one bit.

What had Wirt said again? He tried to scrape his mind for the information he needed (Ford was the one who had kept the pad), and finally managed to fit them  together: A large, frightening monster which had possessed a young girl, and who in turn transformed into a flesh-eating monster when the thing in her was not kept distracted by it’s host’s activity. There was more though…

They had managed to defeat it. They had used the bell that commanded the monster, and… No!

Dipper slapped a hand against his forehead, the beam from the torch swinging around wildly as he basked for an instant in their combined sheer stupidity. They needed the frog, or more precisely, they needed the bell inside the frog. They had been so eager to get hold of the thing before it made any more damage that they had forgotten the key component in exorcising, or at least controlling it. And it was no demon either. Wirt had only spoken of a spirit. This wasn’t as bad as he had made it out to be, shocked into action by the impressive performance that it had put on when the scanning had gone wrong earlier.

He was impressed by the brothers. Without having access to much information, they had managed to get through all this relatively unscathed. Of course, Wirt was older, but he had Greg to care for, and had come back to a world that he would have difficulty calling home. He sighed. He still hadn’t told him about what he would go home to, how difficult it’ll be to get back to a relatively normal life, how what was left of his family probably wouldn’t believe that they had come back, and unchanged as well… not only that, but to the State they were long dead, and so had no such things as social security numbers anymore, nor any official papers that they could rely on (it wasn’t a good idea for the authorities to know about it anyway. From what he had read and been through, they would either be considered like a couple of loony homeless kids or illegal immigrants trying desperately to get a better life, or they would be believed and carted off as curiosities of nature for people in white cloaks to poke and prod at their leisure.). They were going to have to make use of Grunkle Stan’s forging skills, he finished off his train of thought distractedly, as his eyes caught sight of something interesting in the half-light.

He had walked all the way through the cemetery and had reached the place closest to the small chapel on the other side. All the oldest graves were huddled here, tumbling blocks of stone overgrown with weeds that nobody took care of and that were only flowered once a year by one of Gravity Fall’s still sane grannies. Tombstones with old-fashioned, flying-skull engravings (that he knew were odd in this part of America) peppered the area, but these were not what caught his eye.

What seemed to be brilliant white flashed first under the light of the torch, before he saw that it was actually a dull yellow heavily contrasted by the dark surroundings. As he got a little closer, he started to distinguish the rest of the object: the yellow was the one of well-worn pages, and was bound in brown and black leather. He was only a few feet away from the book when he managed to pick out the words “Tome of the Unknown” on the cover. Dipper stopped, heart pounding despite the fact that the night was still, with no sign of danger. Or maybe that was why he was afraid. It was like the forest tensing a second before the predator leaps, a second before jaws clamp down on a juicy new meal… He shook his head. No, there was no Shere Khan waiting for him behind the low graveyard walls, and even if there was, he had fire to chase him away with. [3]

Bringing the said “fire” a little closer to the book, he set his mind whirring in the direction he had intended again. “Tome of the Unknown” was a title that was all too familiar to him, but that he was incapable of placing anywhere precisely. The Unknown… It was the place the brothers had come from, he was sure of it now. And this “Tome”… was it some guide to the place they had been? The one they had been so cruelly denied when they were venturing there? A new thought hit him with the force of a manotaur: did it have instructions on how they could get back?

Blinded by this one and only idea, he rushed forward and picked the heavy book up, not paying attention to the little black turtle crawling away from it, not seeing the gravestone morph into something luminescent and dangerous, not even catching the sound of the creature’s rasping breath as it pulled itself to it’s full height. It was only when a taloned hand caught his ankle and pulled him upside-down that he cried out, the strain on his knee joint even harder due to the heavy bag still slung over his shoulders. He just had time to pull his phone out and touch the speed-dial button before having it wrenched from his hands and it falling to the grass below with a dull thud.

* * *

“Dipper? Dipper! Answer me! Oh no, Grunkle Ford, there’s only white noise, I heard him shout, what’s happening? Please, Dipper, just hold on, we’re coming over!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]Do you have Brownies in the States? Female boy scouts, that is. 
> 
> [2]Kappas in Gravity Falls? What next? Unicorns?.. oh, right. (For those who don’t know, a kappa is a mythological Japanese creature with great strength and a fondness for water and martial arts.)
> 
> [3]And I’m talking about the book, not the film. Go read it. It’s brilliant. 
> 
> This chapter.  
> I wrote a first version (months ago), scrapped it, wrote it again, scrapped that. Wrote it again. Kept it, tweaked it a lot, then found that I wasn’t satisfied with it and finally scrapped it again. Even this version I’m not fully satisfied with, despite my very low standards for a publishable story. Hope you enjoy it anyway.


	12. This isn’t Keats

Not much had moved in the kitchen since the adventurous trio had left, apart maybe for Stan’s plate and the curtains cutting off the advancing night. Greg had stayed where he was, eyes dry but not drooping from fatigue as they should have been doing at this time in the evening. No, he remained forever patient in the return of his lucky frog, the one which, as them, had travelled into the Unknown and back.

Wirt was on a similar level of activity, but not in the same way. He was yet again stuck in his thoughts, sitting in a chair facing his brother, but not really watching him. He may have seemed blank on the outside, but inside his brain was a boiling, thrashing sea that would not be appeased no matter how hard he tried. It swung wildly between desperate, heart-wrenching guilt at having put Greg in danger earlier on, relief that he had in the end not received any of the pain he had been forced through, and finally the memories of the actual torture he had undergone.

He did not blame anybody apart from himself for that last part though; he should have remembered Lorna, the bell that still resided in Jason Funderburker’s belly, the spirit he had banished from one place and that he had not thought to completely destroy. He probably wouldn’t have had the heart to, he added as an afterthought. He was good at destroying things, like troublesome lamps and people’s lives, but it didn’t mean he made a good job of it. The Beast was probably roaming around the Unknown again at this very instant, he thought bitterly. He made up a little poem for himself in that moment:

_A new grave, now dug in the garden near the lake,_

_Covered in flowers and tears from close and afar._

_Yet see how the coloured paint of houses near flake,_

_And the families within them miserable are._

_Trees wilt and illness strikes all those who dare approach,_

_The town once bright and jolly now chill and lonely,_

_His body dead, yet his presence like a cockroach,_

_Wirt the failure now lies six feet under, coldly._ [1]

Then came the engulfing terror of that other moment he had nearly lost Greg, which bled into more and more memories incorporating mental and the leftovers of the physical pain he had received earlier. He shivered, coming back to himself after a while. He looked at Greg, still unmoving, and then quickly took in his surroundings, as if he was rediscovering the place. He needed something to distract him, _now_ , before it came back and dragged him down again.

His gaze stopped on the book still sitting next to him at the table, and he quickly snatched it up. A small voice shouted at him from a corner of his head to keep some dignity, which was ignored in favour of the creamy paper and black ink.

He skipped the title page, table of contents and chunk of acknowledgements to get to the actual story. It wasn’t something he would usually do, but this was an emergency. He needed a story to immerse himself into as quickly as possible, before the horrible thoughts came back again.

 _“I‘d never given much thought to how I would fall in love…”_ [2]

And he was hooked.

It was magic. It was interesting, yet the read was light enough so that he could break away from it at any moment to look up and check on Greg. Every time his own traitorous mind crept up on him like some great predator on the hunt, he would be able to take up the story again, which would effectively shoo it away.

When he glanced back up at the time during one of these reprieves, he was surprised to see that it was well past midnight. His brother, as was to be expected, had not moved, yet it didn’t stop Wirt from worrying for him. His brother was literally the only person he was left to protect, the only reason for his existence. How he regretted now not taking Dipper to one side before he left, getting him to tell him what he knew of his family, what had happened to his friends meanwhile, in these twenty-odd years his brother and him had been missing. What had happened to Mom? How would she react when he saw a son who should have been in his mid-forties not having aged even a bit since that fateful day? He paled.

Was she even still alive? [3]

He did a quick calculation. Forty-eight...  She had been forty-eight in 1983. So she would be in her late seventies by now. His chest hitched at the thought of the smiling, caring woman he had called his mother, but now with fair hair turned grey and wrinkles deeply driven like furrows from the corners of her eyes. Or maybe not. A lot of things could happen in thirty years, and seventy-eight was getting very close to the average life expectancy.

It hurt to admit, but maybe that the last time he had seen her, he had grunted a goodbye as she had set off for her evening of TV watching with her friends, bowl of potato salad in hand and tired smile upon her face after the long week of work. At the time, he had been too busy worrying over Sara, fiddling with the hem of his costume and the tape that he kept pulling out of his pocket and picking up again. His mother was a caring person, who would sometimes nag even more than Greg’s father (who really liked the place clean) about such things as cups of tea strewn around the room, and would always offer a word of comfort to her eldest son when he saw him on edge. But that day, they hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of them.

The more he thought about it in the relative silence of the kitchen, the more it seemed overwhelming. It was nearly worse than his mind-drowning earlier on, the selfish thoughts (that weren’t as selfish as that; they included Greg, after all) that he had held the sappy romance novel up against. His meagre umbrella of a windbreak had been pulled out of his grasp, and he could now no longer force himself to open the cover to where his thumb bookmarked the page he had been reading.

He needed to know. The regret of that last interaction he had had with his mother was too difficult to bear, the uncertainty even more so. Was he simply condemned to regret things he had not managed to do throughout his life? He strengthened his resolve. No, even if such a curse had been laid upon him, it made no difference to the meaning of his existence in his life. He hadn’t realised it for so long, adding yet another thing to his ever-growing list of regrets, but he had to protect Greg. Make sure that he didn’t turn into an individual as worthless and as generally selfish as himself. And above all, keep him safe from danger as best as he could.

Wirt completely forgot about the passage he had previously so carefully bookmarked, and lost both line and page as he set the cringe-worthy cover of the book face down on the table, letting it assume the position it had originally sat in. He walked over to Greg, trying to keep the worry down as he saw that he didn’t react even as he approached him. Slowly, he pulled the blanket that Stan had draped over the kid’s shoulders before setting off to bed himself, with a huff managed to lift his brother onto his lap, before pulling the blanket back around both of them. He hugged the still wide-eyed boy against his chest as he too lost himself in the contemplation of the immobile frog. After a while (did time really have any importance in situations like this?), he felt the soles of Greg’s shoes digging into his lap as the boy pulled his feet up, trapping Wirt’s arms between his legs and torso, then slowly lowering his head onto the cushion thus formed by his knees. The boy’s breathing slowed as the clock ticked the seconds away, and finally he fell asleep.

Wirt’s eyes had not left the still form of the frog on his improvised hospital bed, feeling sorrow for the poor creature that had unwillingly been dragged along with them into this catastrophe of an adventure. He had difficulty understanding his brother’s attachment to the animal most of the time, but right now, he could see where it came from. In his childish fervour, he saw the animal as more than just what it was. Through all the games of make-believe, it had acquired a personality to him that could only come from a kid that hadn’t had enough attention paid to him in the first place. Maybe that during all that time, he had been trying to fill in a gap that he had failed to fill. It was saddening, but the more he thought about it, the more his self-hate geared mind deformed it, until he was absolutely certain that nothing other than that could be true.

His energy was starting to wear out on him though, and even though his blood was cut out in his limbs and his mind was still uncomfortably active, he managed to drop off in a sleep haunted by a number of light nightmares.

* * *

The shrill ring that in that moment could only be the haunted bell broke him out of his slumber, his body filling with aches and cricks and his skin drenched in cold sweat. Greg had also been startled awake, clambering off his brothers legs to rush as close as he could to his pet amphibian. Seconds later through his hazy mind, Wirt managed to gather that the threatening ring had only come from a telephone sitting somewhere deeper in the Shack. One of the rings was interrupted in the middle, followed by Stan’s voice bleeding through the many cracks in the Shack’s wooden walls. As he listened, the tone changed from annoyed to worried, to finally finish off in a panicked squawk. Pounding footsteps approached the kitchen, and in stepped the man, one of his arms in the sleeve of his jacket over a dirty tank top and stripped pyjama bottoms. This would have been striking and mildly amusing were it not for the look on his face which was as far from the usual scowl Wirt had become used to in the last few hours.

“Kids, you’re coming with me. They found it,” then added with a muffled sigh, “and Dipper’s in trouble.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]Told you I’m really bad at this. I’m open to all suggestions for a better angsty poem to be inserted in place of this one, if this is your thing.
> 
> [2]An obvious Twilight parody, as the novel in Gravity Falls was supposed to be. I just slightly altered the first sentence. Is that copyright infringement? Please, don’t sue me Stephenie Meyer! And don’t flame me, fangirlish readers! 
> 
> [3]At first I wanted the father to be Greg and Wirt’s connecting family member, but after having rewatched “Tales of the Dark Lantern”, I had confirmation that it was in fact a mother that they have in common. It doesn’t really matter, I just had to edit this chapter so that it fell so, but I find it so unnerving to write down the word “Mom” (you probably understand by now through the way I write and the numerous hints I dropped that I use British English rather than American. There isn’t really much of a difference, but some things still differ enough so that the text gives off a slightly different feel). 
> 
> Well, this was actually completed before chapter 11 (which I had major writer’s block on. I’m not good at writing those kinds of scenes). Major angsting, seeing as it’s Wirt, and at last, major plot points! This is a pretty sad story actually. A frog in a coma, a pair of traumatised brothers, an unpleasant spirit kidnapping our favourite nerdy teenager, a broken family… Whoops! Getting ahead of myself. Let’s see how this unravels first; I’m just as excited as you, don’t worry ;)
> 
> And yet again sorry for the late updates. I’ve got a whole lot of things going on in the real world, as well as a bunch of unfinished ideas for other fics that will probably never see the day. Hope you enjoy what I actually do give to you here, anyway. And thank you so much favouriters/followers/kudo-leavers… You may think that it’s not worth supporting such a useless writer as I, but it is! Even if it isn’t this fic that I’m working on, it still encourages me to write in general, so do!


	13. This isn’t safe

Greg held the cardboard box to his chest so tightly that Wirt was worried that he would crush it, but he was wary of taking the small thing out of his brother’s arms. They had both been bundled into the car without much explanation other than the one that had first been given to them, but Wirt knew. They needed Jason Funderburker, the one who held the key to controlling the spirit of the bell.

He worried his lip as his gaze fell back down to the boy sitting in the backseat of the car with him. Since he had woken earlier on, Greg’s mental state seemed to have improved slightly. He responded, if not monosyllabically, when spoken to and the lifeless expression had left his face to give way to a few emotions. Not as many as he would display normally, but it was a start.

All this, though… Greg didn’t know that the reason they had been pulled from their slumber was because they needed the precious animal he held so possessively. He probably wouldn’t have followed them so dutifully if he had figured it out, knowing that the animal that he protected would be torn from his grasp at any given moment, and would be exposed directly to the threat which had reduced it to this state in the first place. Wirt sighed, torn for a second, before deciding to make an exception to the oath he had mentally made himself swear some time ago.

 _Sorry, Greg,_ he sighed in the depths of his mind, _for once, for the good of another human being, I’ll need to drop the good brother act and sacrifice your pet. I hope you’ll forgive me one day,_ he added wistfully, before letting his gaze drop from the teapot-less head and move over to the front of the car.

“Hey kid, get that seatbelt on. The twins say that I’m an awful driver, and that’s only when they’re being ironic. So do me a favour and don’t get me charged for manslaughter,” came Stan’s voice as he clambered into the driver’s seat and blearily tried to get the key to fit into the cigar-lighter. Wirt gulped audibly, leaning over to get the strap across his brother’s chest first, before wrestling with his own a few seconds later. He managed to get it done up just before the car roared to life and sped out of the drive with wheels spinning and screeching their way towards the main road.

He was surprised that he hadn’t cracked the plastic under his nails as the car roared through the night, the fact that it had been bought the same year that he was born not reassuring him in the slightest. Greg stayed unaffected, gazing at the road ahead and sometimes dipping his head down to take a look at his frog. His already strained heart jumped out of his chest as an object flew through the air unannounced and landed in the space between him and Greg. He picked it up cluelessly, but not for too long, as the man who had thrown it over gave him a thread of instructions:

“Call Ford’s phone and ask him how things have evolved. If you can’t get hold of him, try Mabel’s phone. Ford’s under ‘Sixer’ in the contacts and Mabel as ‘Kid number one’,” he clarified.

Wirt looked at the object similar to the one that he had seen Mabel manipulate with such ease the day before, trying to puzzle out how to make it work. He unknowingly hit the power button on the side and the screen lit up, making him flinch back and become blinded by the lock screen. [1]

“You’re there yet?” came the demanding man’s voice from the front.

Struggling, Wirt read the white writing which had no mercy on his retina. “Swipe to unlock screen...” he mumbled. Bringing the edge of his cape up, he rubbed the screen in the direction that was indicated, only to have the backlight shut off on him after the automatic amount of time set to make the phone go into sleep mode had passed.

A chubby hand reached over and grasped the small thing from his brother’s larger ones, that were now shaking in frustration. With stunning ease, the small boy went straight to the right app and opened it, found Ford’s number and brought the phone to his ear all in the same movement. When he picked up after two rings, he touched the loudspeaker button and held it closer to his brother and the Grunkle’s ear.

“Stanley, good to hear you, are the kids with you?”

“Yes, we’re here,” confirmed Wirt.

“Good. If you could get the car as close as possible to the chapel in case we need to make a quick escape, that’ll be…”

“Sixer, listen to me for a sec. Have you found Dipper? Is he all right?”

“I’m not… No, we haven’t. But we found his phone, and we’re looking all over for him. Mabel’s just gone into the chapel to see whether he’s there…”

“And you let her go in by yourself? Are you STUPID?”

“She’ll be fine. She knows how dangerous these things are.”

“NO Ford! If that thing could get hold of Dipper so easily, do you think that it’ll be any different with Mabel?”

A huff on the other end of the phone. “You’re being too dramatic. This spirit’s nothing, we’ve been through worse before.”

Of what Wirt could see of him, Stan had gone completely livid with rage, and his knuckles were white where they grasped the steering wheel.

“Ford, I don’t think you quite understand. Dipper isn’t just ‘that one person who refused to become your apprentice’, and Mabel isn’t just ‘his mad sister’. They’re people, and if you just BOTHERED to come up from your den from time to time, you’ll know that they’re only KIDS.”

The violent way he turned down a small dirt path on that last word slammed Wirt against the glass of the window and brought on a wave of nausea that he repressed at the last moment. The bumpy road didn’t help the travel sickness though, and the dark overhanging trees were as foreboding as they could be.

“… you were FINE after coming back from your dimensional trip, but now you’ve just become a SENILE old GIT. For crying out loud, I half doubted that you were DEAD for years and sometimes I still wonder if you are. You know what you’ve become? You’re a social recluse, a man living away from society. Sixer, you’ve become another FIDDLEFORD!” [2]

Both brothers shot forward with a yell as Stan pulled the emergency break at fifty miles an hour.[3] Once he recovered enough and his breathes came to him normally again, Wirt peeped past the headrest at the road and saw the man illuminated by the headlights. His colours washed out by the dazzling lighting, he held a phone stuck against his ear, and was looking through the windshield at them, barely inches away from the front of the vehicle. Wirt glanced over at Stan again, and saw him panting and looking at the man with a horrified expression on his face. Slowly, he realised that the Stan, the man who by all accounts cared so deeply for his great-nephew and niece, had nearly run his own brother over. He shook visibly as he undid his seatbelt, opened the door, rounded the front of the car and fell into his twin’s arms. Ford stayed stiff in the embrace for a few seconds, but finally relented and pulled his own six-fingered hands around to rest on his back.

With a pang, Wirt looked over to his brother, unsure about how he was faring after the near-accident. He was trembling as well, but otherwise seemed okay. The edges of the cardboard box were a little bent in where he had held it too tightly. The still unmoving Jason Funderburker inside didn’t look harmed though, and a gentle prod answered the question of whether he was still alive or not. Breathing a sigh of relief, he undid both their seatbelts and clambered out and around the car to get to open the door on Greg’s side.

Stanford and Stanley let go of each other when they saw the two smaller figures coming over to greet them properly in the harsh white light. Ford coughed into his hand and Stan rubbed the back of his head, sighing. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the patter of footsteps heading their way. Ford immediately pulled his futuristic-looking gun thing from his trench coat pocket whilst the three others curled away from the noise, but the bright jumper and skirt revealed that the person was none other than Mabel.

Her face was white and she stuttered a little as she opened her mouth to speak.

“I-I-I found him. And the s-s-spirit.”

“Good work Mabel. Here, you can be in charge of the disintegrator,” he said distractedly, throwing the gun in her direction. [4] She juggled with it for a second, before getting a safe hold on it with her trembling fingers.

“Sixer,” Stan said in an intimidating voice.

“Hm? Oh right, sorry.” He took the weapon from her grasp and shoved it back into the pocket it had appeared from. “We’d better find a less obvious entrance than the front door. Mabel?”

“There’s one around the back. That’s where I spied it from,” she said in a shaking voice. She pointed as she spoke, and Ford waited no longer to start making his way in the direction indicated.

They circled the building and pushed passed a door hanging off it’s hinges, none of them making any more noise than was necessary. They came to a place where the wall was caved in at the top, from where they could glimpse what was going on in the main part of the chapel.

The spirit was indeed there, floating like an ethereal being a few feet from the ground, it’s head scrapping the ceiling, obviously having gained some ‘weight’ (or ‘power’, in this case) in the short time it had been exposed to Gravity Falls’ source of paranormal energy. And in it’s arms, cradled like an infant would be, lay Dipper’s motionless form.

He had lost his cap and an old scar from an adventure he had had earlier on that summer had opened up again, bloodying the left side of his face. [5] His arm also lay in a crooked position not quite possible for an unhurt human being to achieve, and he was generally battered and bruised all over.

Wirt looked over to the monster and wondered like all the other people present what would be the best strategy to use. All the people, apart from Greg, that is.

As before, the boy had not let his eyes stray from the frog in his arms, relying on his big brother to lead him wherever he had to go. But the lack of noise alerted him to something out of the ordinary, and as he looked up and caught sight of the great being and the unwell friend in it’s grasp, he couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping him.

The sound cut through the place and echoed against the walls over and over again, the acoustics designed to make everything louder kicking in and making sure that the small noise was heard by all.

The cryptid froze, and slowly, turned it’s dark eyes towards them, until their whole world became the monster’s dark sclera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]I’m still in the age of flip-phones I’m afraid, so I based this one off my sister’s: it’s a Samsung. I’ve never been in close enough contact with any other make to describe the specifics.
> 
> [2]I’ve got absolutely nothing against Fiddleford McGucket. He’s a brilliant character, and the plaster on his beard just makes me laugh internally every time I see it. AND with all that, he manages to have a credible sob-story as well. All in all, Yey for Old Man McGucket! 
> 
> [3]No idea what real consequences this could have on you. I don’t even know how fast fifty miles an hour is, just that it’s pretty dangerous for a country road.
> 
> [4]Don’t do this at home, kids. Seriously, gun-juggling is akin to Russian Roulette (urgh, that’s a heart-wrenching fic. Over on Fanfiction.net, user name Lizzy322) or wrestling the Multi-Bear whilst naked. Just a warning, folks. Just a warning.
> 
> [5]A very specific FMA reference. Ed has exactly the same scar in exactly the same spot, and in practically every fight after he first acquires the cut, it opens up again and never fails to drench his left eye in the stuff. Yes, I am a big fan. And yes, I’ve only read the manga.
> 
> Oh, and the chapel isn’t the same as in the dinosaur episode. Just so you know. Urgh, and the ending is SO cheesy and stereotypical! But at least the chapter’s slightly longer than usual. And ends on the word ’sclera’. Come on, give me some credit, here!
> 
> I managed to make a car ride last (practically) a whole chapter. Right, I really am procrastinating now. I promise that it’s not my fault, I’ve got absolutely no idea about how to go about writing the scene with Lorna’s demon. I’m really crap at writing action scenes anyway (or I think so. You all seemed to like the one where our dear Jason gets possessed, even though I hated writing it out), and my mind is just putting it off and automatically writing filler. Important filler, though. As I said before, I’m a binge writer, and plans usually don’t work well with me, so things like these emotional/mildly character building scenes sorta pop out of the noosphere directly connected to my fingers.
> 
> And again, thank you for the love and appreciation! It’s really nice to open my inbox and getting showered with kudos. Thanks to that, I might actually finish this fic one day!


	14. This isn’t a Deus Ex Machina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I was procrastinating.

There is a moment lost in time, moment which is definitely an illusion, but that even a certain golden dream demon could not deny the existence and power of. It is the instant where the glass topples, that moment when it seems to hesitate between falling and staying upright, and the time that allows the heart to plummet to the heels and the brain to process that something terrible is about to happen. It is also the second the predator catches sight of the prey, the instant they freeze in a fraction of a second which would either condemn one or the other as they wait to see which would be the first to move.

It is a moment which is, by law of the universe, silent. And every thing, living or not, knows of this rule.

Be it the now enraged spirit, the dimension-hopping space adventurer, or even the terrified child, none dared move in this one moment that. Despite it not representing even a fraction of their entire existence, it would stay with them forever.

Everything has an end, though.

* * *

It threw itself in their direction, still holding Dipper in a way that could look tender to some, but would more likely be seen as one using him as a meat shield. Its great claws slashed down, barely missing Mabel by a few inches. They had instead found their mark in a piece of rubble lying close by. They were pulled back in order to attack again, the girl's eyes following them as they did so, and she blanched. The rock had been cut as cleanly as if it had been a piece of butter. [1]

She snapped her head back up from the slightly sickening sight, to lock on her brother's limp form. It was impossible to see from here whether he was breathing or not, but she couldn't lose hope. She was Mabel. Such a thing was unthinkable for her.

"GRAPPLE GUN!" she cried, loud enough to match the pitch of the monster's own (eerily human-sounding, she had to admit) roar. She armed it, took aim and fired towards a beam which she had spied earlier on and was more or less certain was safe. A bright light and a grunklish shout informed her that at least one of them disapproved of her actions, but she couldn't care less in this instant.

As she had planned, the weapon's hook held tight when she gave it the quick safety tug. The beast had been distracted momentarily by the blast from Ford's scary-dangerous gun thing, that went right through its form without doing any damage whatsoever. She pulled the trigger, and her arm was nearly wrenched from its socket as she shot through the air, but determination quelled her pain.

She slammed bodily into the monster, managing to do more damage with her flimsily-shoed feet than Ford had done with alien technology. It shrieked again in a way that her heart of gold could not quite ignore, but it wasn't what was important right now. Taking advantage of the fact that the being's had limbs too long to hurt her without dropping Dipper, she grabbed him with no regards to his broken arm and pulled on the grapple's handle again to dislodge it from where it was stuck in the piece of wood above her head.

And it stayed there. Panic blinded her, something that she was not used to and didn't know how to deal with, and pulled again, harder. The cable could not take their combined weight. It would snap, and the fall would be too high for them to afford, not knowing the full extent of her brother's injuries. The monster had recovered from the kick in the face it had received, and its eyes had focused back on her. She could see those razor-sharp teeth, it was going to bite her in half, and she just had the time to pull away and escape it, but that would mean leaving Dipper in its arms, and she couldn't save herself and condemn him… [2]

It was her spontaneity, she realised. If only she had thought this through, and not acted on impulse as she always had, she could have… She should have left this to people who knew what they were doing. To someone not ruled over by their emotions. She glanced down at her brother, and though his face was pale and strained, he was breathing. Not knowing how she knew this, but being confident of its truth, she looked up at the maw rushing down to meet her.

If she were to die now, she would do so with pride.

* * *

It was in utter horror that Stanley Pines watched what would have been the last moments of his great-niece. The violet sequined sweater that she wore was one that he had always hated with a passion, one that he thought was the most tasteless of her latest creations, but under the pale light cast by the murderous spirit, he found a new beauty in the thing.

He would look at anything but her face in this instant. It couldn't make it the last thing he remembered of her.

He knew for a fact that everyone was rooted to the spot, even the ever death-defying Ford. It could only be defeated physically, and they were all too far from where it hovered to tackle it. He thought so, anyway.

He didn't quite register the piece of metal flying past his head at lightning speed, not until it hit the spirit squarely on the forehead. It was just enough for Mabel to make a split-second decision, flinging Dipper to the floor and jumping down after him. From behind him, a shrill cry cut through the air, and the little kid he had accepted under his roof, Greg, shot past.

Soon appeared the second kid, Wirt, chasing after him, supposedly the person from whom the cry had come from in the first place. Still in a daze, not quite understanding how he wasn't yet fighting for his great-niece's remains, he managed to process that the little kid was running straight for the beast that had very nearly killed Mabel, and that he could have caught him, were he only a little quicker to react.

It was only as he saw Ford run forward that he worked up the courage to do the same, cursing his own hypocrisy. Talking about not exposing the kids to danger was not enough, he realised. He had to actually act on it for once.

It was time to put the six-pack hidden under his stomach fat to use.

* * *

Since he had seen the spirit, Greg had completely snapped out of his torpor, but had been struck by a different one instead. He had never been afraid in the Unknown; he was not one to be afraid. But this was Mabel.

She had instantly turned into the big sister that he had never had. Not that he didn't appreciate Wirt, but she was a person forever willing to play with him, forever happy to make-believe. And she fully accepted Jason Funderburker as well.

But there she was. This wasn't make-believe anymore. Lorna was huge and terrifying and had already hurt Dipper, and she was about to hurt Mabel as well. And everyone was too scared to act.

That's what he thought, anyway, until he felt his elephant costume being lifted from his head, and watched with surprise as Wirt threw it towards the monster. The unafraid expression on his big brother's face was what made him act.

He knew what to do. It had worked last time, he had shaken Jason Funderburker, and the spirit had gone away when it was told. Even if Lorna had a piece of Jason, she would surely give it back and leave them all alone if he asked her with the bell, right?

But he had to hurry. He shot forward, away from Wirt's grasp, and ran towards Lorna. She looked very angry, and was moving about very quickly, trying to dodge the kicks and punches that the old men were throwing her. They didn't understand that it was Lorna they were hurting. He had to stop it.

He carefully held Jason Funderburker up above his head, and shook. Not much effort was needed to get the desired result, the bell ringing loud and clear, heard by all despite the sounds of the fight echoing otherwise.

"The spirit of the bell commands you!.."

"The spirit of the bell compels me."

"…give me back my lucky frog!"

Instantly, a scream echoed through the chapel and a bolt of blue light travelled through the air, arching from where the spirit's form had been writhing earlier on towards his hands, towards the pet he held between his chubby palms.

"Jason Funderburker!"

The frog twitched, back legs peddling for a second, but then fell still again. Greg slammed the animal against his chest, tears tracing down his face. There was no heartbeat anymore.

* * *

Wirt was surprised, if not, as per, worriedly so. His brother had yet again run into the midst of danger, even though he seemed conscious of it this time. He had gone forward, saved the day, but was now back to his previous state, if not worse than before.

He pulled him into a hug, like he had done before when Greg had met the Multi-Bear. He tried to be comforting, but the hiccups didn't cease as he held him close.

Wirt's instinct of survival worked itself up however, ending in him having to look up to see where the spirit was. The place where before there stood a horrifying face and a huge silhouette, there only remained the frail, bluish hue of a young ghost. She was staring at Dipper, not making a move in his direction, but looking at him longingly as Mabel and Ford shook his shoulders, trying to wake him. She went unnoticed to all apart from Greg and him, apparently, either unseen or not considered dangerous enough to require attention. Stan tried to pull Mabel away from Dipper, trying to give enough space for Ford to work correctly, but she was kicking and screaming, tears and snot running down her face.

Lorna (because it was Lorna. That was one face that Wirt would never forget) looked up suddenly when the screaming started, and silent shock spread across her face as she watched the female twin in her despair. It turned to sadness as she looked around the chapel, seeing the damage the monster she had been had wrecked on the place, before finding him and Greg.

To Wirt, she looked a little older somewhat. Maybe it was the light, or something else, but she seemed to smile, before disappearing in a puff of cerulean vapour.

Not wanting to think over the last few minutes too much, he distracted himself by pulling Greg in even closer, maybe crushing him a little, but perhaps the rocking would soothe him. Perhaps.

Suddenly, the eight-year-old gasped, then squeaked in excitement. Instantly, Wirt let go of him, and he jumped up, babbling in joy as he handed him Jason Funderburker.

The animal was blinking away the faint light from a dropped torch somewhere, seemingly not too badly hurt as he croaked miserably. He could only rejoice in his brother's glee, but the renewed screaming from Mabel pulled their attention forcefully from the miracle that had unfolded. The frog was once again crushed against the boy's chest with a forlorn croak, and they made their way towards where Dipper lay, hoping above hope that the teen would wake just like Jason had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Gryffender has the same ability. It isn’t as remarkable, because he doesn’t do so often, and he’s way smaller, but that’s where I got the inspiration from.
> 
> [2]If you recognised this reference, you can read “Die Ironie des Krieges”. You can even read it if you don’t recognise it. Even if you don’t like historical drama.  
> Yes, shameless advertising is shameless. 
> 
> Now, what do you think happened there with Lorna? I could tell you, but that would spoil the theorizing and stuff. Try and figure out my headcanon, I dare you! (it will not be revealed out right by the characters in the series, so good luck!)
> 
> I’ve got no excuses, apart for life and laziness. And rewrites.  
> Thank you for all the support and reviews (was this cliffhanger really that bad?), and over 2,600 views on Fanfiction.net! We’re getting there (I don’t know where exactly, but we’re getting there)!


	15. This isn’t an issue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, “The Spirit of the Bell” arc is officially finished, but there will still be some leftover angst as well as the stuff brought on by the whole “time-travel” business. I won’t give this arc a name yet, seeing as I don’t know how it’ll evolve, as usual. But it’ll basically be “family angst”, I think.

Dipper didn’t wake up nicely. It was his own spit going down the wrong way as he attempted to swallow it in his sleep that pulled him from his torpor, and he could do nothing more than roll over onto his side and try and cough up the offending liquid. But he couldn’t.

That was when he discovered that his arm was set in a cast, and any movement sent a drilling pain in his side, head, and every other part of his body. He didn’t even want to attempt to sit up, let alone open his eyes.

“Quick, make him sit up!” came a voice from somewhere distant, before his eye was forcefully opened and a bright torch shone into it, making him wince pitifully as what he felt like a metal stake being hammered through his cranium took its source from the light. Not just that, but someone was now pulling him up by the armpits, to then let him softly settle back against a pillow.

The torch withdrew as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him with a groan rising up through his now freely-breathing throat. The red afterimage didn’t help his headache any more than the torch had.

“Dipper! Can you hear me?” squawked Mabel’s painfully high-pitched voice. Again, he groaned, in acknowledgement this time.

“Of course he can hear you, Mabel. He’s wide awake.”

No prizes for guessing who was behind that sentence.

“Ford, don’t patronise her. She just wants to make sure he’s all right,” said Stan, somewhere off to his left, if his ears were to be trusted. He sounded tired.

“That’s all right. We’re all a bit shaken up,” she said in a softer tone.

“A bit like Jason Funderburker, then!” shrilled joyfully a kid’s voice from the foot of his bed, followed by the muffled sound of a bell.

“Greg, don’t! We don’t know what that’ll do!”

“Not much. If it isn’t glowing anymore, it shouldn’t contain any more paranormal matter. As far as I can tell, all’s clear. Although, if you don’t mind, I would like to borrow that bell once it’s finished its… natural course...”

“You’re more than welcome! Take it! Just never bring it near us again! Especially Greg!”

Tired of the conversation taking place without his contribution, but even more by the confusion surrounding his last memories (a flying teapot?), he forced his tongue to form a couple of words:

“WhereamI?” he mumbled, unsuccessful in his attempt to form an intelligible sentence. He did, however, manage to attract someone’s attention.

“Hey, Dip-dop. How do you feel?” said Mabel calmly, her voice possibly the only one that didn’t grate against his eardrums.

“Awful,” he admitted, trying again to open his eyes, this time managing to absorb the fact that he was in the attic room, with everyone crowded into the small space, and what was supposedly Grunkle Stan lying in his sister’s bed.

“Yes, I think I get it. Do you want me to tell you how you’re hurt?” she continued, still using the same soothing voice, whilst Wirt worried over Greg and Stan and Ford bickered in the background. He hummed a little in approval, not wanting to stay in the dark longer than he needed to about his injuries, but not finding the strength in himself to examine them on his own.

“Well, if what I heard from Grunkle Ford is correct, you have one broken and several bruised ribs, as well as a broken arm and quite a few minor cuts and bruises. You knocked your head as well, but he doesn’t think you have concussion. If not, he wouldn’t have left you to sleep for so long.” [1]

He hummed in approval again, drifting off again despite his headache. Maybe if he slept a little longer, he would be able to…

“Here, have an aspirin,” and a cool glass was pressed into his hand. He turned his head in Mabel’s direction, but winced when he felt the crick that had formed in his neck. He swallowed the fizzy drink gratefully though, maybe a little too quickly, because he started choking again.

“Really, calm it kid,” scolded Stan from where he lay, “don’t want you dying of something stupid like that after what you’ve been through, it wouldn’t look good on your tombstone.”

“Stan! That’s such an awful thing to say! Dipper, I’m sorry, he’s hurt too, so he’s really grumpy and mean with everyone.”

“That’s all right,” he croaked, trying to smile in the approximately where Mabel’s voice was coming from.

“Aww, you’re so kind! Just finish off the glass and get some sleep, you’ll feel better then. I’ll get them to stop crowding you, but you’ll have to stay with both Grunkles; Ford is looking after you and Stan can’t move for at least the next few hours…”

The last part was lost to him as he slipped back into a dreamless sleep, emerging a little when Mabel hissed at all unwanted guests and pushed them out the room, but without any other incidents to keep him awake.

* * *

That day was spent not doing much, the atmosphere in the house/tourist trap strange without both twins and various other kids running around squealing, Stan hot on their trail. Whilst Greg was perfectly happy playing about in the kitchen, keeping an eye on Jason Funderburker (the frog was confined to a “bed” of toilet paper, still a little weak and unwell, but Ford had not diagnosed anything serious), Wirt’s foot tapped lightly against the floor in a twitchy rhythm. Mabel was likewise sat at the kitchen table, several balls of yarn scattered about, making a tiny sweater for the sick frog. Wendy sometimes popped in to see if they needed anything as well as Ford, but they were usually greeted with a smile and a “we’re fine, thanks”.

The one thing that remained unsaid though, and that none of them brought up, was the fact that no-one wanted to be left alone.

From time to time Mabel would drift to the door, obviously wanting to retrieve something from one of the other rooms in the house, but she would always stop at the threshold, hesitate, then return to her chair.

Wirt didn’t like it one bit. He had nervous energy to spend, but nothing to do.

“Come on bro-bro, relax!”

“I’m perfectly relaxed!” he said a little too quickly, bloodshot eyes snapping to where his brother was. [2] “Besides, I’ve got every reason to be nervous…”

“…or completely exhausted. Get some rest Wirt. Greg’s right, relax! It’s over!” Mabel piped up confidently from where she was sitting.

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, chuckling a little. “I don’t think so, Mabel. We’re time deportees, remember? People who are not supposed to be alive? There’s no way I’m going to calm down, I need to keep Greg away from all this, give him a childhood, make sure he grows up correctly, goes to school, gets through college…” he trailed off, well-worn panic welling up and crushing his chest.

Two pudgy arms wrapped around him from behind, making him jump, but not daring to move after he figured out it was his little brother. He had forgotten he was in the room as well. Damn.

Mabel was wearing a frown, and had put her bright orange piece of knitting down. Her full attention now on him, she leaned in a little closer, capturing his eyes in her own and making sure that he wouldn’t evade what she was about to say.

“I do know all that, but the point is, Wirt, that you’re not alone in this, even if you think you are. I might not have known you for too long, but you’re a friend to me. You saved mine and Dipper’s life last night. And Jason Funderburker’s.”

“Yeah, totally!”

“You saved us all. And we all owe you one as well, and don’t you dare try that ‘I don’t need your charity’ excuse on me. We can help. You’re in a tight spot, but we’ll make it ok some way or another.”

Greg clambered onto his lap with a little difficulty, but he managed it nonetheless. “We’ll all stick together. Not like in the Unknown. Besides, I like brother Wirt better than Popa Wirt,” the younger boy giggled. [3]

He relaxed a little. Maybe he would take Mabel up on her offer. His own trust and pride issues aside, they had no reason not to. Dipper was the one with the information about his family anyway, and he was one person he did trust in, admired, even. He had cried on his shoulder. And who knew, maybe they still had a way to send them back. Maybe. He could always hope, couldn’t he?

“Here,” said Mabel, shoving a book into his hands, “I know you’ve started reading it. Just, finish it, please. The end’s worth it.”

He blushed a little as he accepted the “Wolfman Bare Chest” novel from her expectantly extended hands, but she was right. He really did want to know who Ella would choose. Would it be Eddie or Jackie? The suspense was unfathomable. [4]

Mabel smiled a proud smile at him. He would make a good fanfiction writer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]This is an approximation. I’m unsure of what being slammed against a wall by an angry spirit and then being dropped from a few feet up while being unconscious would lead to, but from what I could gather, this is the minimum damage that such treatment would entail.
> 
> [2]ATLA reference, anyone? Slightly deformed, but still recognisable, even though it’s now a cliché joke in my books. 
> 
> [3]Greg is horribly manipulative, like most little kids, but he’s way more subtle about it. Because he’s cute. 
> 
> [4] Haven’t read Twilight (apart from the first few chapters, years ago), so this is basically an approximation of the love triangle present in the series.


	16. This isn’t filler

They all slept huddled together in the living room that evening. Wirt, having finished his book near mid-afternoon, had looked glum for a few hours before Mabel called Grenda so that she could bring over the sequels, but also to secretly introduce the boys to the mischievous friends and initiate Wirt further in the Cult of the Mad Fangirl. She had appeared at the door flanked on one side by Candy and on the other by her Austrian Freiherr, who had renounced his title as baron last winter to come and live as a simple man in Gravity Falls beside the love of his life (although his mother had not been impressed by his decision, he was still given a humble mansion house with view on the lake and paychecks were sent weekly to keep up with his noble way of life, while she happily took charge of the family business and large fortune). [1]

From Greg’s point of view they spent an evening of nonstop fun, but from Wirt’s it was more of an embarrassing catastrophe of having to explain his interest in the romance novel to a pair of squealing girls, whilst also trying to keep Greg away from their evil makeover-ing clutches. At one point he tried to find solace in Marius, but the boy just sat there with a lovestruck smile on his face, regarding all of his large girlfriend’s antics with a sickly-sweetness that made Wirt think that maybe he was lucky to have never turned into such a pile of mush.

Finally, after several hours of pampering and petting and way too much _pink_ , the three friends left with promises of coming back the next day which made Wirt shudder. [2] After wiping off the glitter and mascara from his face, he prepared his still hyper brother for the night. Mabel had cooked up a meal with Wendy’s help, and they all sat in front of a rerun of “Duck-tective” in companionable silence, munching on their lasagne. Of course, seeing as Greg and Mabel were in the same room, and the floor was well covered in a thick layer of mattresses, there just _had_ to be a tickle fight. The only one that didn’t get caught up in it in the end was the lucky frog, looking down on the whole scene from the vantage point he had from on top of the TV.

They settled down at a reasonable time though. Wirt was the last one up, finishing off his chapter before switching off the torch he had been lent. It was a surprise to him when he found his eyes closing just as his head hit the pillow. He would have thought that he would be kept awake by his chronic insomnia, or at least the worry that had been piling on since the beginning of his existence, but no. Maybe it was the books, or the afternoon with the barmy girls, or maybe even Greg’s recovery of his usual happy and eccentric behaviour, but he felt good. Cleansed.

He followed the cue of the two others and curled up close to them, even in his sleep finding himself instinctively protecting them from the monsters that go bump in the night.

* * *

 

They were awoken in the early hours of the morning by a large mass falling on top of them, crushing a few hands and various other body parts in the process, but mainly causing more fright than overall damage. [3] After some cursing and fumbling with the light, the torch revealed that the menace was none other than Dipper.

“Why didn’t you wake us up? And what are you doing walking around at,” the angry girl looked up at the clock, “six in the morning?”

He looked a little sheepish from where he now sat in the TV seat, picking a little at his cast.

“Well, I was hungry, and I didn’t eat anything at all yesterday, so…”

The second that the explanation left his mouth, he found himself talking to empty space as his sister set off into full cooking mode, and had already started making pancakes when Wirt and Dipper hobbled into the kitchen (Greg had fallen back into a deep sleep seconds after the agitation had been toned down, pulling Waddles into a hug as he snoozed softly).

“I can’t let anyone go without food! Wirt!”

He snapped to attention.

“Get me some more eggs from the fridge. We’re on a mission to fill Dipper’s stomach! Now!”

Dipper sat down at one of the chairs, bemused by the sight of the whirlwind of a chef and her designated assistant that Mabel and Wirt had become. Soon, the table was filled with every food that he could ever want, and Mabel wiped her brow with a content grin on her face.[4]

“Perfect! Now to wake the Grunkles!”

Soon they came traipsing down the stairs, Stan using his Mister Mystery cane to alleviate his bruised thigh, both grumpily moaning. None of them were willing to get up at such a time, but the smell of food and the sight of coffee brought them back to their senses, and they were once again themselves after a few mugs of the strong drink. By eight, they had all finished eating and the table had been cleared apart from the odd mug or two. Stan, after flying into a rage once Wendy announced to him that the Shack hadn’t opened the day before, was soon back in business in his suit and had left the kids to their own devices. Ford, having at last been able to get hold of the bell, had disappeared into the basement to study it in detail. While Mabel and Greg had retreated to the TV and the mattresses still coating the floor, Wirt sat anxiously, watching Dipper as he flipped through his computer.

He had refused to go lie down again upstairs, instead wanting to stay in the kitchen and do his research on the broader table. Wirt was simply waiting. Waiting to find the courage to ask him about his family. Waiting to see if maybe he happened upon some information on that alien device of his, something that would send him and his brother back to their hometown and their mother and father and friends.   

Dipper glanced up, and offered a weak smile. One side of his jaw was slightly bruised, throwing his symmetry off-kilter and giving him a slightly intimidating look. But it was genuine.

“A-are you all right?” tried Wirt, instantly regretting his words as soon as they left his mouth.

Dipper frowned at him. “I’m ok, Wirt. I’m happy to be still alive, to tell you the truth, but it’s not your fault that I ended up like this. I’ll heal.”

Again, the wave of guilt in his selfishness engulfed him in its familiar pit, and it visibly showed on his face, because Dipper’s expression hardened as he set eyes on him. It quickly fell, but it most certainly had been there.

“You want to know about your hometown, don’t you? I ask you again: are you sure that you want to know?”

“Well… unless you can send us back…”

Dipper sighed, pinching his brow. “I know, I know, but now that I’m in a cast, it’s going to be even more difficult. Ford isn’t going to do any active research, I’m more or less certain of that. And if there is anything in the woods that would lead you back, it’s going to be very difficult to find. Even scouting the section around the place you appeared is going to be testing. To tell you the truth, I doubt that we’ll be able to find it this year, if it exists at all. Remember what Ford said.”

Wirt paled, but nodded. He knew that this was coming. “I know the alternative. Find family, people who would believe our tale, and get them to take us in and give us new identities.”

Dipper huffed in agreement, going back to tapping away at the keyboard.

“All right, I get the message. Ready for this?”

“Bring it on.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I got the term “Freiherr” off the wiki while researching this guy. 
> 
> [2]I’ve got nothing against pink. After all, it’s Crona’s hair colour from “Soul Eater”, Ryuu’s from “Binan Kokou Chikyuu Bouei-bu Love!!” (worth the watch, but do so at your own risk), Princess Bubblegum’s from “Adventure Time” and lots of other cool characters from funky shows, so it can’t be that bad. It’s just that it can be a little overwhelming in excessive amounts, like any other colour, really. 
> 
> [3]An expression from my second language that I’ve had some difficulty translating. It’s a phrasing that’s usually so generic that nobody thinks before using it, but it feels all wrong when I type it out in English. I think I managed ok though. 
> 
> [4]I believe in huge and frequent meals, because yum.
> 
> Oh joy! More filler! Fortunately, there’ll be important plot stuff in the next chapter (this one and chapter 17 were supposed to be the same, but it was getting way too long), so yes! This story will have an end! Also, I love comic relief, and you can’t say that things have been light-hearted recently…


	17. This isn’t going to be easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! We’re getting somewhere! :D

“Where should I start?”

“My family, please.”

“Right. Greg’s father fell into depression a few years after you disappeared, then died in the early 2000s of cancer of the pancreas. Your mother stayed by his side the whole time, but passed away three years ago. I’m sorry, Wirt.”

He was expecting it, he had to tell himself. They were orphaned, their parents were dead. Dipper looked up, not a trace of apology on his face, but Wirt had to remind himself that the kid had nothing to do with it. He was just the poor soul who had taken it upon himself to tell him the grave news.

“Should I go on, or stop?” he asked, concern tinging his voice. No, he wasn’t apologetic, but he still cared for how the news would affect him.

“Yes, p-please,” Wirt stuttered through rapidly forming tears.

“As you can imagine, all your grandparents are long dead. The only actual family member that I found was on your father’s side…”

Wirt flinched away. His father. The last person he wanted to be reunited with.

“Not him…”

“No,” interrupted Dipper. “He died behind bars after he did the same thing he did to your mother on another poor woman. Just… don’t think about it anymore. The person I was mentioning was your uncle.” [1]

He fidgeted a little. He had met him once, but it had been brief. His father and his brother had never gotten along well, with ten years difference in age, there was a reason. But they also had completely opposite personalities, physiques, and his father hadn’t approved of what he called his “way of life”. And like all things he had done, his father had left a lasting impression on him. More precisely, he had frightened it into him. Now that he was older, he could see that his hatred towards the estranged family member was unjustified, but he still resented the man who hadn’t, in the early stages of his mother’s wedlock, warned them of her to-be husband’s evils and false promises.

“All right, but now about Sara?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. “And the others that were there on that day?”

 “What’s her surname?” he asked, and Wirt told him. He typed on the keys again, sometimes scanning a page, to then dismiss it with a swipe of the touchpad. He stopped after a while, looking back up to him.

“All your friends continued the search long after the authorities had left, and had formed an association of sorts, but they disbanded when most of them graduated and moved out. A few hard-cores stayed though, including Sara, her sister Emily and a certain Jason.” [2]

“She aced in wrestling in college, as well as contemporary dancing, and studied to become a doctor, but gave up and moved back to her hometown instead and became a policewoman. She also married...”

“Jason, I knew it.”

He gave him a look.

“…Boris, the town doctor.”

Ah. Well.

“And they’ve got three kids. Jason, on the other hand, has become a very successful animator for a children’s cartoon show. [3] To tell you the truth, she seems to be the one who would believe you the easiest, being so dedicated to finding you. If we manage convince her, there’s a high probability that she could help us find a home for you two, someone likely to take you in without too many questions asked. We need _competent_ (he glared in the direction of the gift shop) adults if we are to get anywhere with this. You’re not going through the system, either. [4] If you’re getting new identification, it’s not the best of ideas to leave them between the hands of the State more frequently than necessary.”

Wirt felt uneasy at the idea of what Dipper was suggesting. It was scary, having to hide behind an identity that was not their own, but he could see the point. Supernatural phenomena obviously still hadn’t been recognised nation-wide as natural, and them being a tangible and verifiable example, they would most probably be poster-children for the research surrounding it for the rest of their lives. Definitely _not_ a good idea.

 “…and you don’t seem to like Jason that much, so we might as well let that one lie.”

A silence fell over them, while Wirt processed the implications of what had been said before.

“But… we lived on the eastern coast. We’re in Oregon, aren’t we?” [5]

“Yes, and it’s going to be difficult to get there and back before the holidays finish, but I’m sure we could make an arrangement. Money shouldn’t be an issue, despite how stingy Grunkle Stan is, he’s loaded. Saving up for “The Big One”, but he likes you two well enough, he’ll make an exception. I hope.”[6]

Silence yet again fell on the pair, Dipper crunching numbers, Wirt thinking the whole thing through. Sara _was_ the one person he trusted the most in this world, that was still of this world, apart from Greg and the Pines, of course. The fact that she was married was a little disturbing, like imagining Mabel without her braces. But, whether he liked it or not, time had passed, and he couldn’t do anything, apart from waiting for Dipper to find a solution. He would otherwise be lost, or would have wasted too much time trying to get to the information Dipper had given him in minutes. It was, to say the least, impressive. He would never look down on people younger than him ever again.

“I think the Speedy Beaver is the cheapest and most convenient solution. The busses aren’t high-class or anything, but considering, they are pretty good at getting you from one place to another without too much time wasted. We’ve got a lot of stuff to do, and this year we’ll have to be going back to Piedmont early to get the stuff for school ready… It was slightly disastrous last time. ”

Yes. Right. Yet another thing he had totally forgotten about. They didn’t have an infinite amount of time before the twins would no longer be able to help them out, and would have to go back to their own family and lives. The world didn’t revolve around his own worries.

“Er, right… and, that’s like, three, four days bus ride?” he asked sheepishly.

“A little less, maybe. Or a little more. I haven’t got a clue. I’ve never travelled so far before,” he admitted, and seeing him fiddle with the brim of his hat, Wirt saw how unsure he was. This kid could go up against monsters, get smashed up in the process, and come out of it with no visible psychological scars, but he was still anxious about taking the bus across the country. Endearing was the right word, he reflected, before pulling his chair a little closer so as to peer at the screen of the omniscience device (to him it seemed that way).

A little blue squiggle wormed across the map of the United States, tracing the way from Wirt’s hometown to the little dot labelled Gravity Falls, Oregon. He poked the screen tentatively with his finger, the surface rippling when he pushed too hard. [7]

“Don’t! You’ll damage it!”

The older teen looked at him with wide eyes, slightly perplexed. Pleading. Dipper sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking slightly annoyed but internally feeling giddy at the sheer amount of _stuff_ he could introduce Wirt to in this new world of his. This guy could go up against monsters, protect his brother from them, and come out of it with no visible scars on either of them, but he was still as unknowing as an infant when faced with a liquid-crystal screen. Endearing was the right word, he reflected, before letting go the curt sentence that was closer to his current façade.

“I’ll teach you to use it some other day. Could you just holler for Greg and Mabel to come over and look through the details? Then they could go and get the Grunkles. We’ve got some talking to do.”

As told (he should also ask Mabel to give him advice on how to not be such a pushover, he mused), he got up and went to the door’s threshold, “hollering” quietly in their direction. Greg, immediate to react, jumped up from where he had been lying on his stomach, grabbed the literally lucky frog and bounced over to where he stood.

“Time for lunch already? I’m starving!”

“Greg, you just had a huge breakfast. Even if you’re hungry again doesn’t mean that we are. Could you at least wait for us to digest what we already have in our stomachs before eating a second meal?” his brother replied mildly.

“Okey-dokey Wirt! It’s more fun to eat all together anyway, like that I can finish your plate as well!”

Mabel followed close behind, and the gleam in her eye was all too recognisable. “Mabel! I never said he could snack!”

The glimmer died out, a pout replacing it. “Aww, but why? I like snacks as well, who doesn’t like snacks?”

Another pinching of the brow, this time on Wirt’s part. “No. Please, just don’t use those puppy eyes on me…”

They all ended up with a peanut-butter-jelly sandwich on their knees, and Dipper strengthened his resolve on his previous decision. [8] Wirt really needed lessons from Mabel, be it for the best or for the worst. As he bit down into his food, he thought that whatever the turnout would be, it couldn’t end up being anything other than hilarious.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] We all know that Wirt was bitter about Greg entering the household, but nothing is ever said about his own father. The only hint we’ve got is that they moved out after the divorce/death/break-up (the cardboard box in “Into the Unknown” has something like “Stuff from old house” crossed out on it, to be replaced by “Xmas decorations”. Even the wiki hadn’t spotted that.), so my naturally angst-creating mind made up something tragic and voilà. 
> 
> [2] Emily is totally made up, but I really wanted her to have a sister. Just because.
> 
> [3] …and he inspired himself from events in his childhood surrounding the disappearance of a friend of his and his brother, and their voyage into the afterlife. Get it?
> 
> [4] Everything that is to do with foster care and such. Wirt wants a stable future for his brother and himself, so being moved around would not be the ideal.
> 
> [5] Not the best of sources, but I based this on the fact that Cartoon Conspiracies pointed out that the winged skull symbol would usually be used on gravestones in New England (i.e. far far away from Boring, OR). 
> 
> [6] This is supposedly what you would call a stir of Mr. Andreas Fault, but it could just as well be a nest-egg to fall back on in the possibility of being banned from Oregon. I love that expression, it’s so adaptable! 
> 
> [7] Don’t laugh. I…actually just did this. And yes, that is Google Maps.
> 
> [8] I don’t like peanut butter.
> 
> Wow, a lot of author’s notes! Well, I guess I was working up to this, and I hope it wasn’t too dreary or unrealistic headcannoning. I did my best.
> 
> Happy Winter Solstice to all of you! Have a good shortest day of the year(if you haven’t already)!


	18. This isn’t fashionable

“No, absolutely not.”

“But Grunkle…”

“I’ve made my decision, and it’s a no. Point blank. Full stop. No.”

They would have hoped, but it didn’t go as planned. It seemed as if Stan had built up a resistance to Mabel’s cuteness over the last few months, and even when Greg joined the fight, looking adorable enough to defy Puss in Boots, they still didn’t manage to win over the grumpy old man. [1]

“Kids, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you travel across the country unsupervised. Anything could happen to you.”

Dipper fiddled with his hat in annoyance again, sighing as he did. His temper had shortened quite a bit since the Blendin incident, and, apart from a few notable exceptions (Mabel, people in distress and little kids, just to name a few), he was very likely to snap at most things that irritated him, or else reply in a manner that would be called “sassy” by some.

“Stan, you let us fight against potentially deadly beings nearly every day.”

“T’s not the same thing, kid,” he replied, shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth. “Besides, I bet that all the other adults at this table ‘ll agree with me.”

“Do I count as an adult?” said Wendy through her much more enthusiastic eating.

“Not sure. Been to prison?”

“County jail counts?”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

“We’ve been there as well!” Mabel cried triumphantly, pointing an accusing spoon in her great-uncle’s direction.

“Yeah, but not by your own fault.”

They all dutifully started eating again, a silence falling over them while both sides tried to find other arguments in order to defend their point of view.

“Stan is right,” added Ford after a while. “Either me or my brother have always been close enough to help if ever you were in serious trouble.”

“So why don’t you go with us?” said Wirt unexpectedly, who had not involved himself in the conflict up until then.

“He’s right, dude. Stan could do with a vacation, even if I understand why he would want to stay to look after the Shack, as well as you, Ford. Me and Wendy know how to take care of the place, and you can all go on a road trip quest together!” said Soos, in a sudden moment of illumination.

“Yeah, he’s right!” said the four kids in chorus, sounding a little creepy, but more determined than ever.

“No, Dipper.”

It had been Ford, which had said this quietly, attempting to put an end to the conversation using his brusqueness to silence the person that he saw as the leader of this impromptu rebellion against the given order. He wasn’t prepared for what was to come, however.

“I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS, FORD!”

Everyone’s head snapped over to Dipper, who was panting as if he had run a marathon.

“Stop. Just stop. Before I got caught by the spirit, I wanted to forgive you. Even after that, when you were taking care of me and Stan in the attic, I wanted to tell you, I wanted to say sorry for all those times that you’ve seemed uncaring, but weren’t. I can’t let this go on anymore.”

“Dipper, I…”

“No,” Dipper interrupted him easily. “Let me finish.”

“Dipper…”

“SHUT UP!”  he shouted across the table. [2] “We’re your family, you should take care of us, you should spend time with us, listen to us, respect us, see us as who we are. You say that you and Stan are always near us, always there if we get in trouble, but you wouldn’t know if a _bomb_ hit the Shack until someone pulled you out of that cellar of yours. And it’s not only that. Even when you’re here, you’re lost in your own mind and _don’t see_ what’s going on outside of it.”

“But what I think is worse than all this, worse than the neglect, is the jealousy. You haven’t been the same since I said “No” to that proposition after Weirdmaggedon last year. Stan told me about your trip, and it seems that you were able to hold yourself together then. Maybe it’s because you were distracted, and he’s your brother, and _I_ wasn’t there to remind you of the failure that this all was. Your best chance at getting a good apprentice, snuffed out,” he concluded, snapping his fingers.

“Yet, sometimes I wonder if it’s all just that,” he carried on after a pause. “Maybe that it’s something else. Maybe it’s something that you’ve been hiding from us since the moment you came back, and the cover that you’ve designed for it, maybe the joy of getting back all in one piece, has been crumbling away with time. All that warmth you showed us, it was all just to hide a cold, unfeeling centre, something that we can now plainly see. And it’s not right.”

He stopped talking, and looked his Grunkle dead in the eye, the other holding it as well as he could.

“Ford, you’re unwell. And I’m worried.”

Even Wendy, who would try to break the tense atmosphere with something, _anything_ , didn’t say a word for the next few seconds. All masticating had been halted, the clink of cutlery had been silenced, and Wirt felt a bead of cold sweat carve its way down his spine as he was reminded of a very similar face-off with the spirit of the bell, Lorna, whatever it was.

So, as he had been taught, he readied himself for the worst when the moment passed, squeezing his eyes shut against the blast.

Ford, finally, let his gaze drop and sighed. Wirt opened his eyes a crack, just to make sure that what he was hearing was true. He risked doing so fully when the man covered his face with his hands, rubbing furiously (despite his glasses which must be digging into the bridge of his nose). He then settled them back on the table, the twelve fingers of his hands trembling visibly for all those present in the room to see.

“You’re… right. I’m not well. I think…”

He stopped, took a shuddering breath.

“I think that you’re right. I wouldn’t admit it to myself, but… there are too many people, and Bill didn’t help when… well, you get it. Other dimensions were… rough.”

Stan got up, walked passed the few chairs between him and Ford, and put an arm around his brother.

“Stanley? What…”

“We’ll get you out of this, Sixer. It’ll be fine.”

The other Grunkle quirked an eyebrow in his direction, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Dipper’s right, you… you need a shrink or something.” [3]

He smiled a little sourly at that. “All right, if you manage to find one that would believe me, I’m all for it.”

Stan’s smile mirrored his twin’s at this, but he nodded in approval at the fact that he was ready to do such a thing. It was a big thing for him, a huge step to take, but he would do it, for his family.

“And in the meanwhile, I’ll do my best to be a better Grunkle. Kids, we’re going to New England.”

 Their roar of triumph could be heard in Portland.

* * *

 

Wirt looked yet again with dubious eyes at the clothes that had been given to him, but resigned himself to his fate. Even when they had had the chance, neither he nor Greg had taken the opportunity to bathe. Just after they had finished eating, Mabel had whisked Greg out from under his watchful gaze for a bubble bath, which he had only been mildly happy about at first, but in the end he had to agree that his brother looked much happier, and smelled much nicer, once they were done.

He, on the other hand, preferred to take a shower, not only because it was quicker and required less time alone (they all still had that same irrational fear of being away from others. Dipper had asked him quietly whether he wanted him to keep him company, which he had politely declined. By his standards, it well surpassed the awkwardness level which he was willing to put up with), but also because the idea of being submerged in water was… _repulsive_ to him.

After the water coming through the showerhead got to a temperature that was acceptable, he got the washing done and over with as quickly as he possibly could (yelping once or twice when the water’s temperature changed abruptly, someone downstairs deciding to use hot water at that moment). He got out of the tub, nearly slipping on the already wet floor from Greg and Mabel’s splashing earlier on, grabbed a towel to quickly get rid of the moisture that was freezing his skin, and hopped into the clothes that Mabel, Dipper, and Ford had managed to bring together.

He had had doubts because of the sizes of the various articles, which should have been more adapted to either Dipper and Mabel’s shorter frame, or maybe Ford’s much larger one, although he was pleasantly surprised to find that they were all a good fit. Thinking back, he had seen Ford messing about with a pink crystal earlier on, which may or may not have been the cause of the resizing.

Nevertheless, he now had a decent pair of shoes to thank them for (which he had been in dire need of), as well as a few dubious shirts, some of which were of cuts and patterns that he was pretty sure didn’t exist in his age, and a sweater that Mabel had been all too happy to give away.

And of course, he appreciated the gesture.

It was just that despite it being the most comfortable article of clothing he had been given, it had to be of the most gaudy shade of _neon orange_ in existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Anyone who’s seen Shrek 2 knows what I mean.
> 
> [2] I believe very strongly in freedom of speech and thought. If there’s something that you want to say, something you think is wrong and that you’ve got a valid proof and reasons backing it up, I don’t see why you shouldn’t tell the person/people what you think, even if you’re just a kid. This could be different depending on how you were brought up and your culture and such, but generally it’s something that I would recommend.
> 
> [3] Ahem, yes. Sorry, username the_mystery_twins, but I really needed this part. As for you, readers, if you’re interested, go and check out “The Wind in Visions” on ao3. Yet again another great Gravity Falls fanfiction, maybe slightly more mature than this one, but definitely worth the read.
> 
> This is not at all canon with the Journal 3 which was published not so long ago. In there, you can supposedly find testimonies of the extreme trust that Dipper shows towards his Grunkle, up to the point of even revealing secrets unrevealed by the TV show. It’s just that, as I’ve mentioned before, the key to a coherent story is realism. And realistically, a person shouldn’t be able to go through so many years of, well, solitude without some sort of mental impact.
> 
> I hope that all this doesn’t make for too much drama too quickly. The last few chapters have been rather unbalanced important-plot-point wise, that is there have been chapters specifically dedicated to fluff.    
> Also, just a warning, the next update will probably take some time, I've got some rather pressing matters to attend to. I should be back by mid-January though, but it's just so you know and don't start shouting at me through the comments for the next update.


	19. This isn't a weapon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Yes, it’s been some time, but there’ll be another chapter up soon, I promise. Also, this story is being slightly rewritten in the earlier chapters, no major plot points, but some dodgy point of view changes and vocabulary and added descriptions and such. So if you see some things that have changed, like the added chapter titles and such, it’s all just part of the rewrite. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The reservations didn’t take long to make, just as Dipper had expected, even though to Wirt the absence of trips to the actual bus station to pick up their tickets was a bit difficult to understand, and ultimately, had to be explained by Mabel. Greg tagged along, shaking his head in what his brother hoped was only mock amusement when he asked such questions as “And the paper travels through thin air?”

With the intervention of Dipper and Ford (who, in the few months of having returned to the dimension from which he had first come from, had grasped the concept of technology faster than his brother had with considerably more time and guidance), he managed to comprehend enough to use the most basic of functions, but he was still bewildered by the advances that had been made in the short amount of time they had been ‘gone’.

Then, more to Greg’s horror than his own, they had a lesson in modern history. The younger boy quickly fell asleep despite the poking and prodding from Wirt and his whispers of “this is important”, but after Mabel reassured him that she would make him catch up in a more child-friendly fashion later, he let him be.

The whole thing was quite horrifying. It didn’t help that the twins and Ford had conflicting views on the utility of the second Gulf war, and in the end he resorted to looking up student material on the recently-discovered Internet for some less political views concerning the subject. He was busy trying to translate the only decent article he had found (it was in Italian), when he was interrupted by Stan walking in on the chaotic scene. [1]

“Er, sorry to interrupt, _kids_ ,” he said, pointedly looking in Ford’s direction, “but seeing as it’s time to eat you should come down and have a _light meal,_ ” with this time the insistent look being addressed to Mabel, “and then get your stuff packed and beddy-byes ‘cause you’re going to be up at flippin’ four in the morning tomorrow if you don’t want to miss that bus of yours.”

Greg had to be carried downstairs, but apart from that they were all relatively happy with eating together. Stan, unsurprisingly, mumbled all through the meal about how the kids were so impertinent these days, mentioning after a few minutes their “preposterous music” and “outrageous clothes”. His spoon went flying in shock when this immediately triggered a burst of uncontrollable laughter from both Wirt and Dipper, which quickly turned into hilarious rage when he realised that he was the subject of some sort of elaborate mockery.

On the other hand, Jason Funderburker had made a spectacular recovery, and was now trying to get out of the shoebox on any given occasion, whilst Greg still spoon-fed him scraps from his own plate. Not only that, but Mabel was making sure to dote over amphibian, swine, and small human at once, that ended just as well as expected coming from Mabel, that is, pretty awesomely.

At the end of the day, only Ford remained relatively quiet and calm throughout the meal, the last one that they would all have together while retaining full consciousness (he severely doubted that his brother would have as much coordination when they would come to enjoy their early breakfast next morning). It was a different silence that he would usually display though, this one interrupted from time to time with small smiles and chuckles at all the other’s antics, and sometimes dropping a comment that would usually trigger a wave of groans and occasional mutters of “big-head”.

It was only at the end of the meal, when everyone was more or less falling asleep onto their respective plates that he cleared his throat.

“Kids, are you all listening?” They nodded in unison. “Good. I would just like to remind you all to make sure that you’ve got everything that you need, spare clothes, toiletries, and any other things you think are necessary and that can fit in a small bag. No, _not_ Waddles Mabel. Also, I know that physically you should all be apt to go on this journey, even though I’m slightly doubtful in your case, Dipper, but I trust your judgement on this. I would therefore like to make sure that none of you have second thoughts about this trip. If you’re up to a long, back-and-forth, and _really_ boring journey with a high chance of finding a disappointing answer to your questions on the other end, put your hands up and shout!”

In retrospect, Stan was more or less certain that Sixer had only done that to spite him. His hearing aid whistled painfully when Mabel yet again exploded the world record for most enthusiasm put into a yell, with Greg following close behind. Dipper raised his fist and offered a very sarcastic “Yeah”, but the longing for adventure in his eyes could not be mistaken. Wirt was the last to respond to the call to arms, hesitation setting in for a moment after Ford’s demotivational speech, but joined in soon after, his awkward holler being the one that finally triumphed above all others, fuelled entirely by his will to set eyes, for maybe the last time, on his hometown, and on Sara.

* * *

 

The packing was a short, but stressful event. Dipper, not best suited to go rummaging through badly-organised drawers of clothes with an unusable arm, and not trusting anyone even slightly eccentric to choose what he would be wearing for a while, he asked the older of the brothers to do so, instructing him on every article he wanted and their precise location. In exchange, he offered to switch the sweater Wirt was wearing with a less promiscuous piece that Mabel had given him for his twelfth birthday. She had only just started on her passion, and her inexperience meant that it was way too big for him even now. The older boy accepted wholeheartedly, pushing back a little inner voice that sounded a lot like Beatrice’s, that whispered _pushover._

Nevertheless, he didn’t have the leisure to dwell on it. As well as Dipper’s sometimes impatient demands, he had to keep an eye on his brother to make sure that he didn’t pack anything unnecessary. Despite the trust he put in Mabel’s judgement, he had to draw the line at the portable terrarium (“but it’s to make Jason feel comfortable!” she tried to argue, but he would have none of it). In the end, Stan had to come in and make sure that they all had reasonable-sized luggage, the only one being subjected to a repacking and filter being Mabel (which was rescheduled to the next day, seeing as she would probably try to stuff something dangerous in the pack up to the last minute before departure), and, surprisingly, Ford.

“I know that you’re concerned for their safety and all, but I think that the disintegrator is a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“But Stan…”

He was pulled around the corner quickly, seeking privacy from the bunch of wide-eyed kids. “Nothing. Is. Going. To happen. The most dangerous thing on that Speedy Beaver will probably be the smell of puke and the screaming kids. And that’s if you’re _unlucky_.”

Ford frowned at him. “But how about…”

“If you really want protection that badly, I’ll lend you my brass knuckles.” He sighed, and abandoning the whisper-shout he had been using up until then for the sake of privacy. “I…You have to learn that outside of Gravity Falls, the greatest threats that you and the kids can come across are other human beings. And even they… the chances of coming face-to-face with anyone who would want to harm any of you is unlikely, to say the least.”

“But there’s still a chance,” he grumbled. Something dark flickered behind those eyes, the stirring of an ancient, dangerous creature.

“Yes, and whatever it is, you’ll be able to defeat it with your fighting skills and a good ol’ knuckleduster, trust me,” Stan was quick to add, wishing to quell whatever this thing was. “This paranoia, I understand that it was something that has helped you survive all these years, but now, it’ll do more harm than good. You’ve seen how everyone, especially Dipper, have loosened up since you’ve become more open.”

“Yes, I guess so. It’ll be difficult…”

“…but worth it,” Stan assured him, offering a smile. “Awkward sibling hug, and a mutual promise to be a better Grunkle in the future? I have to admit, I’ve got my faults as well.”

“All right, then,” his brother agreed after a few seconds of reflection.

They held each other and ended in the usual “Pat, pat,” the trademark Pines family eccentricity bleeding through the generations.

When they came back into the attic room where the kids would all be sleeping together that night, they found the expected scene of utter chaos. They threw in a quick “Good night,” that received a chorus of “Good night, Mister Stan, Mister Ford,” and less formal “Love you, Grunkles!” as they exited to their own respective bedrooms, with hearts no less filled with apprehension than the kid’s, but much less likely to ever admit to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] To some, political debate can be an incredibly heavy and awkward matter, but to me and associates it’s light-hearted lunchtime banter, just so that you’re not confused by the atmosphere in this scene. They are having a good time, don’t worry. And am I just an isolated case of having that brilliant school research material that’s only downfall is to be in a barely comprehensible language? I know, it’s a rare problem.


	20. This isn't a true story

All in all, when he did the calculations, Wirt estimated the total sleep time he had that night to be around an hour and a half. The words Ford had said at the dining table, even though they were light-hearted, had the horrible tendency to stick in his skull and be mulled over and over.

It was at around one o’clock when he heard a sigh, a rustle of sheets, and Mabel whisper: “Wirt, you’re over-analysing things again.”

He was surprised, to say the least, and when the girl got up and exited the rather cramped attic room, he followed her padding footsteps without much ado. They went downstairs, passing in front of an ajar door from which incredible snores could be heard, Mabel stopping every once in a while to point out the floorboards that were likely to creak if Wirt put his weight on them. Finally, they got to the kitchen, where the girl flipped the old-fashioned light switch, blinding herself and Wirt momentarily. 

“Do you want a mug of hot milk?” she asked. “Might help you relax a bit, even if you don’t sleep much.”

He hesitated before nodding, not really used to having hot drinks other than tea and other infusions, but in the moment it sounded enticing. She went over to the cooker, switching the gas on before putting a saucepan filled with milk on top. Wirt sat at the table, relishing in the silence that befell the kitchen, at how simple the whole situation was.

Soon, he was handed a cup of the warm beverage, as well as a small smile. It wasn’t in her usual grinning, dimple-showing style, but it was nice, honest. She pulled a chair out for herself and tasted her own drink, before being the first to speak:

“It’s going to be okay, you know.”

They took another sip, the night making time seem unimportant.

“That’s what you’ve been telling me. But there are so many factors, and...” 

The end of his sentence died in a sigh.

Mabel stared into her drink, seemingly transfixed by the inert liquid. “You like her, don’t you.”

Another sigh. “Yes, I do. Or I did. I’m not sure. This is so complicated.”

She looked up at him, the same smile illuminating her features. “You’ll sort it out in time, don’t you worry, you oversized gnome.”

He laughed a little, a stale laugh, but one that didn’t lack sincerity. “Is that true..? The thing about you dating weird guys that turn out to be supernatural creatures?”

She chuckled in answer to that, sloshing the drink around in her mug. “Yeah, and you haven’t heard the worst of those yet. This one time, there was this boy band…”

And they entertained themselves with each other’s stories of love catastrophes until the others tumbled down the stairs, bleary-eyed and seeking caffeine, which was provided by two alarmingly awake, yet peaceful teens.

* * *

Wendy and Soos had made the effort to get up extra early so as to wave them off, and even though the goodbyes were only meant to last a few days, they were heartfelt. A few tears even escaped the most sensitive ones, Mabel over Waddles in particular, but soon, they were all crammed into the bus along with all the other people departing on that clear morning.

Seeing as they were among the last to get on, they didn’t manage to get seats all together. Each pair of siblings sat next to each other in the end, but Grunkle Ford was condemned to sitting away from them, next to some first-time mother with her one-year-old in the front. Being separated from the kids made him quite nervous, of course, but he was determined on sucking it up, until he had the chance to switch seats with someone closer, that is. At least they were close to the middle of the bus, somewhere that he considered as being safer in the event of an accident.

The kids had decided beforehand that they would switch their pairs over at every stop, not only to stop Greg from getting bored with sitting next to a person who’s main purpose was to sleep and not play, but also to spare the other passengers a nonstop Greg-and-Mabel dynamic duo that would annoy even the most hard-core of caretakers. 

Nevertheless, apart from Ford, everyone fell asleep pretty quickly on the first leg of the journey, even missing their first planned bus-buddy switching. Ford did manage to get a seat closer to the kids though, and sighed in relief when he found himself next to some middle-aged man reading yesterday’s newspaper. Stan had been right about little kids, they were the death of eardrums.

By midday, everyone was fully awake and had managed to get as close as they could to one another, with Dipper now sitting next to Wirt and Greg next to Mabel. The chaos was fortunately only limited to some giggling, and the occasional croak from Jason Funderburker (Greg had shouted “stowaway!” at one point, with a face that seemed too innocent to not guess the real implication he had in the presence of the unwarranted passenger). They ate a light meal a little later that day, and otherwise entertained each other as well as they could, mainly with the twins telling stories about the paranormal happenings in their town, and the two brothers questioning them about the era, filling in the gaps they didn’t know. These usually received a few curious stares from other passengers, but were quickly silenced by Ford’s (very) threatening expression.

“Are we there yet?” said Greg. Wirt was hoping that the question would not come, but that was without taking in account his brother’s naturally active state. When it came to sitting still and staying quiet, they were complete opposites, and now that Greg was getting bored, he knew with dread that there will be _consequences_.

“No, Greg,” he sighed, “remember what I said about being patient? This is a very long trip, and we have to just pass the time as we can, without...”

“Next stop’s in a ten minutes. Greg, you can sit next to me then.”

Both Dipper and Mabel looked up in mild shock at Ford, not ready to admit that he had just said that.

“Great Uncle Ford? Are you sure that..?”

He raised a hand, smiling, with eyes narrowed in amusement. “I’ve taken care of children before, don’t worry.”

“Were they human, at least?” Mabel inquired, and it might have seemed rude coming from anybody else, but there wasn’t any sarcasm in her tone. She was genuinely interested.

“Well, of course. I did have to take care of Shermie from time to time…”

“You know grandpa Sherman?” asked Dipper, before slapping his face and groaning. “Of course you did, you’re brothers.”

“Not very well, he was just a baby, but I haven’t seen him in a while. Since I graduated from college, in fact,” he mused. “Who did he grow up to be?”

“Er… well…” started out Dipper, but Mabel cut him off swiftly.

“I don’t think he likes _people_. Or anything, in fact. He’s a tax collector.” [1]

Ford shuddered, but didn’t dig any deeper. As promised, he moved over and Wirt took his seat, perfectly content in being left alone for a while, reading the sappy novel he had brought along. The passenger next to him, having finished all the interesting things there were to read in his newspaper long ago, would glance over his shoulder from time to time, at first in disbelief at the piece of literature this boy had pulled out, but soon tried to glimpse full sentences, his face displaying longing interest. Mabel, having spotted this, poked the man’s shoulder and slipped him the first instalment of the series, and he was soon engrossed in his own book. [2]

* * *

Greg was now sandwiched between the window and the twin’s great-uncle, and was slightly uncomfortable with it all. He was even taller than Wirt, so he had to lean forward quite a bit to get a glimpse of his brother, sitting across him in the row of seats to the left rather than the ones to the right. And no matter how far he craned his neck, he couldn’t see neither Mabel nor Dipper, only hear the person he considered as his adoptive sister’s giggles.

He never used to be unsure like this before, but since the run-in with Lorna, he had problems being away from the others. The grief following the near-death of Jason Funderburker and Mabel and Dipper was the wake-up call to this cruel world that he was going to have to live in.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ford, but he was a little scared of him anyway. He had seemed cold-hearted, and most definitely  _not_ a fun person, up until yesterday, that is. Still, he had his reservations.

They stared at each other for a while, the life-hardened space warrior and the bored child. And then, he spoke.

“I travelled to this galaxy where chickens and ducks were kings and would only eat the finest polar-bear meat that they could find. But not the liver, of course, which is poisonous…” [3]

Greg, despite the recent events, was still a kid though, and soon lost himself in Ford’s marvellous story-telling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Mabel’s views on tax collectors do not reflect my own. I wanted to be one at one point, even though I eventually let that project drop.
> 
> [2] The Marmite jars always ask to “Spread the Love”, even though in this case it’s just abnormal choices in literature. But that’s how things should be.
> 
> [3] This is true. Polar bear liver IS poisonous because of the high content in a certain vitamin (crazy, right? Can you imagine that, vitamin poisoning?). Also, you should know that ducks are known to be the next rulers of this planet, so bow down to the great Mallard, everyone, before it’s too late!
> 
> Anyway, how do busses work? The longest trip I ever made was 24 hours long, but it was a group tour thing so it was all planned and well organised. I tried to base this on the Greyhound bus company, but not having had any experience at all travelling with them, I based this on personal experience. I hope the difference isn’t too striking.


	21. This isn't home

After that first experience with Ford, Greg mainly sat next to him or Mabel, both better sources of entertainment than Wirt and Dipper. While he was told the best stories that ever existed and played the best only-speaking-no-action make-believe, his brother and Dipper would whisper to each other, and be all serious and sad. He knew that it had something to do with Sara, but even if she was an adult now, he knew that she would be just as fun. And he liked Emily, too. He hoped that he would get to see her.

Jason croaked, interrupting his thoughts, and brought him back to the reality of the moment. The trip seemed to have the reverse effect on the frog than on the rest of the occupants of the bus, that is, he seemed to be just like his old self and was constantly bounding around, in full health once again. He had been so energetic that he had even flown from Greg’s lap into the lady’s in front the other day, sending her into a screaming fit that only ceased when the bus-driver pulled over onto the hard shoulder to check on what was going on.

Fortunately, Ford had had the good idea to stuff the incriminating animal into one of the pockets of his large trench-coat, and looked intimidating enough so that nobody dared approach him. After the lady had been calmed down, they started on their trip again, but this time, the frog was to be kept a close eye on at all times.

It was night-time now, so normally he should be sleeping, and Jason confined to the cardboard box Ford had unearthed so that the amphibian didn’t go on a rampage at night. Still, he couldn’t sleep with Wirt’s snoring anyway, and he was perfectly capable of keeping Jason in line himself. He plucked the lucky frog from his box, and they played I-spy until Wirt stirred, at about three in the morning. Greg watched as his brother blearily blinked against the near-inexistent light, then look up to the red numbers displayed on the clock above the bus-driver’s seat. He blinked a little more, looking like a befuddled kitten, before his eyes widened in realisation and he glanced at Greg. For a second, he thought that he was going to start telling him off for not being asleep at this time and having taken Jason Funderburker out, but he didn’t. He then looked out the window, the realisation turning to panic.

Greg turned around, and caught a glimpse of the familiar bowling-alley sign he had passed by many times before, every time someone at school had a birthday party, in fact.

“We’re here. Greg, we’re back.”

“Home?” he asked, feeling that the sentence his brother had just muttered was incomplete.

His expression, by the light of the occasional neon signs flickering outside the bus’s window, turned sour.

“I’m not sure.”

* * *

 

“But we have to give her _some_ notice! Imagine what could happen when the friends she thought were long dead appear at her doorstep, not having aged a day?”

“Well, we can’t just tell her over the phone the whole story! It’s something that can only be believed in the flesh, and she might get angry and cart us off to the police station if we’re not careful!”

“That’s a risk anyway!...”

As soon as they had stepped off the bus, they had all started arguing. Wirt and Greg didn’t take part in it, too absorbed in the contemplation of their home-town, at the many things that had changed, and the ones that had not. The most striking feature was the huge glass façade of a mall that had only been plain cement the last time they had set foot there, and was illuminated from the inside with blinding white lights.

“Stop.”

Ford had used a commanding voice to silence his great-niece and nephew, which also caught the attention of the two time-travelling kids.

“Whatever we do decide on, we can’t do it in the middle of the night. We’re all going to get some sleep in and discuss the matter calmly tomorrow morning. Understood?”

They nodded mutely, but he still caught the twins exchanging a glare. He shrugged it off, knowing that they were probably more likely to fight anyway, being wound up by the long trip.

“Good. Wirt, Greg, do you know where we can get a room for the night? We’ve never been here before, so we’ll need a little guidance.”

Wirt immediately blushed and looked flustered, just as his brother took on a thoughtful look, finger poised on his chin, humming a little.

“I…I’m not sure… It’s changed so much that…”

“How about that place behind the bakery? Wasn’t there a hotel there?” Greg piped up, cutting Wirt’s flustered muttering off.

“I guess so…”

“We might as well go there then, if it’s the best place you can think of. Lead the way, boys,” said Ford, smiling down at Greg’s immediate delighted reaction.

“YES! Wirt, we get to lead!

They trudged along slowly, not bothering to dampen Greg’s ever-energetic self. The town was a rather small place on the scale of things, nothing in comparison to the grandeur of San Francisco that the twins knew well, nor the huge alien metropolises that Ford had visited and fought in on his travels. They quickly got to their destination, a run-down hotel that had left its years of glory back in the time before Greg, Wirt and Ford were still walking their time and dimension-appropriate earth. The place was surprisingly full however, and the elderly lady behind the desk excused herself profusely when it turned out that the siblings had to double up. Nobody complained, however: even Greg was starting to look drowsy.

There wasn’t a lift, so they clumsily made their way up to the third floor. The threadbare carpet reminded Ford of the one back at home, and he felt better than if the accommodation had been more luxurious.

Fortunately, the rooms were next to each other, and after having checked the sheets for rabid Dantesque mites (a particularly vicious kind of bed-bug that left a bright blue welt where it bit, which took on a weird porridge smell when scratched. He quickly realised that they couldn’t possibly live in this dimension, though), he let the kids retire to their room to get changed and ready for bed. There were two in total, the kids sharing one while he slept in what would under any other circumstances be called a broom closet, but that he had insisted on renting, wanting to be close by if anything happened to them. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could sleep much, if at all, in the unknown and unsecured location, even though the carpeting had made him relax.

Ford did nod off from time to time though, but was usually awakened seconds later by the passing of a car and the flash of light that accompanied them every time their headlights caught on the window. And every time, he would sit straight up in bed, tense and alert, with his brother’s brass knuckles clenched tightly in his fist, ready to fight a threat that remained frustratingly inexistent.

* * *

 

Mabel woke up with a throat sore with dehydration and a longing for cookies.

Although these two things were some kind of antithesis, the dry dough and cooked chocolate usually not the best to help thirst, she knew the call of her taste buds well enough. Lifting her arms above her head and stretching as high as she could, she glanced around and saw that the room was empty apart from her.

Immediately, a sense of dread sat heavy on her shoulders, and she shuddered before burrowing back into the sheets. She stayed like that for a while, calming down her halting breath, before slowly emerging again. It was better than before. She now understood how Grunkle Ford felt when he was confronted with something that he didn’t know, or when Grunkle Stan heard the far-off sound of a police siren.

The door creaked open and in walked Greg, frog under arm and splatters of toothpaste marring his cheeks. In his free hand, he held a toothbrush that was probably the one to blame for the mess.

“Mabel! Sorry that we left you but we couldn’t wake you up, you were like sleeping beauty but with louder snores and I told Wirt to give you love’s first kiss to break the spell so that we could all go back to sleep and he said no and he went all red when I said that and Dipper smacked his forehead and I think he laughed and… and…”

She couldn’t suppress a giggle when he was left just as short of breath as she had been a few minutes ago. He bent over, holding his knees while she laughed, before she came over to him to hold him in her arms. It was partly to show him that she was there for him, but there was also an ounce of selfish need for touch there. Something that would prove to her that this was not all an illusion of some sorts, to anchor herself, in a way. [1]

“Anyway,” said Greg, pushing gently away from the hug that was getting tighter by the second and not helping his airflow in any way. “I was sent here to tell you that we’re going to the bakery to get some breakfast stuff. Oh, and Ford asked if there was anything you wanted in particular.”

She smiled widely at him. “Cookies.”

“Really? If you can get some, can I have some too?” he asked, with an amount of expectation in his voice that could only be described as endearing, yet hilariously so, considering the subject.

Mabel laughed out loud, and was happy to find that she sounded like her normal self, and that it wasn’t strained.

“Of course, but first one downstairs gets to pick chocolate chip!”

They rushed out of the room, the hotel filling with the happy laughter of children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Another advert! Ah yes, they’re everywhere these days, but still, if you’re interested, I’ve written a short one-shot entitled ‘A Sixteenth Century Board Game’, if very heavy angst and psychological horror are your thing. Definitely not for ones with weak mental states or younger readers, but still a fun dream-induced piece.
> 
> And... this is filler. Again. *sighs* I'm tired, ok?


	22. This isn't a small miracle

As much as he tried to relax (Mabel and Greg’s carefree attitudes were helping, but only a little), Wirt found it impossible to. He barely took a single bite out of his bread slice before surrendering it to Greg, and he twisted the hem of his jumper so badly he was certain that it would never regain its original shape. Dipper was just as bad, although he looked more annoyed at his sister than he was with the other member of the dynamic duo.

“We’ll phone her, but without leaving any details. No… she’s a cop, she’ll freak out. Maybe…”

He had taken to muttering under his breath, just loud enough for him to be able to hear himself, but not so that others might. Wirt glanced up at Ford, who seemed to be caught up in between both of the group’s mental states, shushing Mabel and Greg playfully, but then taking on a more serious look when he turned to face the two older boys. He may have been able to take care of the situation last night, but he seemed lost today, looking lost in the middle of the crowd and kids.

Suddenly, Mabel stopped running around the table, Greg crashing into her. He was instantly back on his feet, still circling the piece of furniture, but Mabel had taken on a serious expression and walked over to where the other boys were stationed.

“Right, I’ve had it with your moping! I’m taking over this Mabel style! Now first, we’re going to…”

“Wait a minute, is this going to be the same as last night’s conversation? I’m not going through this again,” said Dipper angrily, from where he had been eating a sugared waffle and writing on a piece of paper simultaneously, getting his research greasy as he used his only functional arm for both tasks.

“I don’t think we should be discussing this here,” added Ford, looking around nervously at the other people crowding the bakery/sandwich place they had decided to get their breakfast at.

“Stop! I get it. Lets’ all go back to the hotel room, and I’ll tell you my plan. And no Dipper, I’ve changed my views since last night.”

Her brother slowly closed his mouth, swallowing the reply he had on the tip of his tongue. They all dutifully followed her,  accepting her as boss for the time being, despite  the disastrous consequences th at decision had brought upon them the last time they had let her do so .  She was the only one who seemed to have her hea d on her shoulders and had decided of a plan, after all. 

They all crowded into the small space, and per Ford’s request, she locked the door behind them while Dipper closed the curtains. Finally, when all were happy with seating arrangements and such, she cleared her voice and started her speech.

“Right, so the idea is to get Sara to know that there’s something important going on, but without alerting her robo-cop senses and making her overreact, but still making sure she turns up and doesn’t consider us as a fraud or something.”

Wirt grumbled something about Sara being too nice and understanding for that kind of thing, but it was drowned under the wave of general agreement from the rest of the members of the party.

“All right, so I thought things through, and I would say that the best plan is for me to phone her, tell her something imprecise about someone important needing to speak to her, that it’s about Wirt and Greg. Honesty is the best solution here, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to say outright that you are alive and well and still young. I’m thinking that it’ll prepare her without having her calling us out on it, and from what I heard, she cares a lot about you two, so she won’t be suspicious if it’s a little blurry, and with luck she won’t think it’s something more dangerous and call on reinforcement from work. That isn’t the side of her we’re aiming for. We want an old friend to come along and meet us, not a cop.”

Dipper raised his hand, class habits taking their toll .

“Yes, Mister Pines over there! Something to add? Questions? Queries? Quinces?”

Dipper smiled at her regained silliness, before voicing his opinion.

“I think that it’s quite a good plan, actually. Sara’s more likely to trust a young girl calling her rather than a man’s voice like Ford’s or mine...”

Greg scoffed at that, but was quickly shushed by his brother.

“… and less likely to freak out at one that doesn’t sound suspiciously familiar. Still, I would like to ask you where we should meet up with her? We haven’t got her exact address, and unless she invites us over, I don’t think we should ask her to come and see us somewhere secluded, or on the other side of the spectrum, too crowded. The first is suspicious, and the second is too open if things don’t go down well and we make a scene.”

“I agree with Dipper,” said Ford, chipping into the conversation. “Maybe somewhere like a calm café or a dinner. If we had to do this kind of thing back in Gravity Falls, I would have recommended Greasy’s, but not at rush hour, of course.”

“Hum… do you guys know a place?” Mabel asked the brothers, Wirt panicking a little at the question, Greg happily relishing in it.

“I’m not sure… They’re all probably closed by...”

“I know! I know! How about Wondertweak’s? That’s a nice place!” [1]

“That’s… quite a good idea. They’ve always had a knack to stay in business despite the awful drinks, and there never used to be anyone there anyway. Try not to order anything that includes hot water though, stick to the cold drinks.”

Wirt shuddered, and everyone believed him and took a mental note to follow his suggestion. They went over the plan several times, trying to take in account all the situations they could land themselves in, even the one in which Sara had to be brought to hospital after drinking the ill-reputed café’s coffee. Once they had done this, they all took in a deep breath, and held it while Mabel dialled the number (Yellow Pages be blessed) and the phone on the other end rang, the low sound all that could be heard in the small room.

“Hello? Sara Brundige speaking, who is this?”[2]

“Hi, this is Mabel Pines,” Mabel said in a tone slightly less chipper than her usual self. Ford did the cutting motion in the background, trying to get her to stop revealing their real identities, but she continued onwards nonetheless. “We’ve got information concerning the disappearance of Wirt and Gregory P...” [2]

“Please tell me this isn’t a prank call,” sighed Sara through the phone. “I’ve had enough of those in the past, I don’t really want to...”

“No! I promise that we do have information about the case, it’s just that… it’s a little delicate. Can we meet up at Wondertweak’s to discuss this?”

“I guess so...” she said, sounding tired. “I finish at three today. Meet you there at about four? Are you certain that I haven’t already been informed of whatever you’ve got to tell me?”

“I promise that this is new information. But it’s important, I promise. A new lead.”

“Really?” she replied, and this time, there was a spark of hope in her voice, however brief it was. “Four it is then.”

“Four it is,” Mabel echoed, before saying a quick “Goodbye” and hanging up.

“Mabel!” hissed Ford and Dipper at the same time. She returned their furious looks candidly, smile wide and braces showing. “What’s up?”

“You gave her our identities!” said Ford, overlapping on Dipper’s exasperated “We’ve got a criminal record!”

Her face scrunched up in thought a few seconds, before brightening with a laugh. “Hah! Forgery’s fine, everyone does it, she’ll understand.”

Dipper groaned, while Greg joined in the fun and Wirt still remained shell-shocked from the call. At first, her voice had sounded so… different. So tired. Not like her usual calm, composed self. That was, not until her last few words. That’s when he found a trace of the Sara he knew all those years (days?) back, that he was sure that they had dialled the right number. But the change in surname… He felt his gut burn at the implications. It was frustrating how there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his lap, and saw Greg looking up at him with childish naivete. Smiling, he scooped him up and brought him into a hug. No, he was not going to let his feelings take over him. They were here to ask her for help, and that was what they were going to do. Get help, find a place to stay until they were old enough to move on, then lead a normal life in this timeline that was not theirs, but that they would have to learn to live in, be it for better or for worst.

* * *

They got there half an hour early, not just for the sake of the more impatient members of their group, but also to give the more nervous ones time to find the perfect place to sit and get them comfortable in the new environment.

Dipper’s first impression of the place was… generic. It looked like any other coffee shop he had ever known, nothing fancy, just tables, chairs, and a small handful of clients sipping evil-smelling brews at their respective tables. Luckily, there were booths lining a windowless wall, a place where Ford usually felt more secure rather than at a more open restaurant table. His eyes roved around the rest of the shop, and he caught sight of a guy wearing an apron (supposedly a waiter) reading a book, as well as the person behind the counter, a middle-aged man with mad-scientist hair and a heavy tic, twitching and blinking every few seconds.

In front of him, Wirt stopped dead in his tracks, and Dipper nearly collided with him.

“No… that can’t be...”

In an instant, Dipper understood, and pulled Wirt aside from the group which watched him do so with a puzzled expression.

“You knew him, right?” Dipper whispered urgently. “You knew him when you were kids?”

Gasping a little in shock, Wirt nodded. “It’s Tw...”

“Did you know him well? Is he likely to recognise you?”

“N-no, I don’t think so. We didn’t hang out much, but I remember now that his parents used to own the shop… I didn’t think he would take on the business...”

Dipper thought it through for a second, then came to a realisation. Wirt had seen his town changed, but had not met anyone he had known back in his own time.  He had nobody to compare his own age and the one he should be with. It was the full reali s ation that something was indeed wrong, off,  with him and his brother .

“That’s ok. I don’t think we’ll get in trouble, just, stay discrete. And remember,” he said, sticking out a comforting hand that he laid on his shoulder. “You’ll get through this.”

The older boy smiled weakly at him, and together they headed back to the booth. He seemed appeased, but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying for him when he would occasionally glance up and stare at the trembling owner of the small coffee shop.

Soon, they were all sit t ing in the seats they had decided on, Ford and Mabel sitting on one side of the booth,  Dipper facing Ford and Mabel the empty seat across from her. She had  unanimously been  elected as spokesperson for the introduction of Wirt and Greg, with Dipper as vice-president and Ford to back them up if things got hairy.  The latter was perfectly fine with letting the kids  make their own decisions, and had found them wiser in some of their choices than he woul d have been.  Wirt and Greg  sat in the booth just behind Ford and Mabel’s, their backs to the shop entrance and the ir heads lowered so as not be recognised immediately if Sara were to walk in.

It was all a little crude, so many things could go wrong, but they were all convinced that it was worth it. They had gotten this far, the y coul d n’t not come out of this fight without some kind of victory.

“Mabel, you remember what Sara looks like?” asked Wirt, nervously fiddling with the drinks menu, leaning over the top of the booth.

“Dark hair, dark skin, beautiful eyes, I’ve got it sorted! Stop worrying, Mister, just try to sort through the drinks that are fit for human consumption and give us a list to choose from!” she said, patting his head in a reassuring manner, eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled at him.

She was right, he supposed. He had to calm down and convince himself that ever y thing will be ok ay ,  just like Dipper had told him to. He had been shaken quite badly by the sight of one of his old  elementary school friends, and had the distinct impression that  things should have never been this way . His thoughts were cut short, however, when the looming form of a waiter materialised right next to him, and he squawked in shock. The man was really tall, much taller than he looked when sitting down, hunched over a book,  and had two  bottomless pits for eyes that stared right into the soul’s core to leave their mark there to burn forever.

“Six orange juices please!” said Greg cheerfully, and the waiter wrote the order down on his notepad.

“Anything else?” he asked in a voice that seemed closest to Enoch’s in creepiness.

“No, that’ll be all thank you!” the little boy answered in the same tone, leaving the man to lumber his way back to the counter to get their order.

Wirt turned back to his younger brother, not all that  surprised by his lack of  lack of fear when confronted with the giant, instead focusing for his sake on the second most  surprising event.

“They serve orange juice here?”

“Yes! They never used to, but they do now! Look! OJ!”

Greg shoved the menu into Wirt’s hands, the one he had been picking at earlier on and from which he had failed to find the le ast fatal beverages.  “Greg, you’re sure they’re safe to drink?”

“Well, I think so,” he said, bringing a finger to his chin in concentration. “They’re not usually _made_ unless you’re at a smoothie bar, that is,  so I thought that it’ll be ok if they came from bottles that a lorry brought here instead.”

“That’s quite astute,” he replied, smiling. “Let’s just hope that you’re right.”

A nd fortunately, he was. The drinks were even poured from the clearly-not Wondertweak marked bottles in front of them, Wirt suspicious that the real reason behind that was that the waiter knew of the establishment's poor reputation and tried to make a show of the fact that they did indeed have something  o ther than raw sewage on the menu.  Still, the drinks were fine, which took a bit of the stress off his shoulders. Just Sara now. Just Sara.

The moment he thought of her, the tinkle of the bell above the door to the  café opened, followed immediately by the  surprised squ e ak of the person who could have, at some point, been a high-school buddy, if only he  himself  had stuck around for high school, that is.  It was only when Mabel called “Sara!”, and that he heard footsteps coming closer, that  Wirt had to stop himself from turning around in his seat. He couldn’t do that, not now. The plan was to onl y reveal his and Greg’s presence once Mabel had prepared Sara, so that she doesn’t freak out too badly, they hoped.  Jumping out at her like that would  be like  having  ghosts  appear out of nowhere to spook her,  definitely not what they wanted, was what he had to repeat to himself over and over. Still, that voice, the same one that he had heard on the phone...  I t was so tempting to just take peak and see the face that he had missed so badly, even if it were to be just for a second.

“Oh, hello, Mabel Pines I presume?” she asked quietly. He heard her take a seat across from Mabel, and knowing that she was only feet away, just behind him, hurt him like a brand. He now understood the full wretchedness of Orpheus, Eurydice only a few steps behind him, but unable to turn around to make sure that she was indeed still there. [4]

“Spot on!”

“And you are…?” she inquired, probably confused by the other people at the table.

“I’m Stanford Pines, Mabel’s great uncle. I’m supervising the kids on this trip.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and Wirt could practically feel the hand she offered over the table, just that little bit closer, just that little bit more painful.

“And this is my brother,” Mabel said, a flourish in her voice and probably in her gesture. “He can be a bit shy, so…”

“Mabel! I can speak for myself! I’m sorry, my name’s Dipper Pines, Mabel sometimes forgets that I’m not just a weird recluse and am perfectly fine with human contact.”

A chuckle. There it was, a light chuckle, low in the throat, that made his heart skip a beat as it had always done before. He felt a little prod to his side, and realised that he had probably been staring at his drink for the last five minutes without touching it, eyes lost in space as he was told they were when he was thinking too hard. He looked down at Greg, frog peaking out from one the pockets in his borrowed coat, and caught him shaking his head. Of course he knew what he was thinking. And of course he was the one with the most sense out of the two of them.

“We got you a drink, if that’s ok...”

“Yes, it’s fine, thank you...”

He was missing part of the conversation! He couldn’t do that, he had to hear every word of it! Immediately he turned his attention back to the chatter going on behind him, to Greg’s despair.

“I was expecting you to be a little older, actually,” Sara said, a glass clinking on the table at her last word. “I’m sorry, but I really need to know if my time is being wasted here. I’ve got a family, and it’s rare I get leave this early.”

She had a family. It was true, and of course he knew it beforehand, but it still hurt having the confirmation coming from her. Wirt wheezed quietly, tears pricking at his eyes, and felt Greg’s small hand on his upper arm. Pat pat, everything will be okay.

Mabel sighed audibly from the other side of the booth, the small noise rising even over the uncommonly-high backs of the seats. “I know they may only be kids,” Ford’s voice, calm and steeled, rose over the silence. “But they’re brave and have more sense than most adults. Please, no matter how out of the ordinary, how weird and ridiculous what they are about to tell you may seem, listen to them up to the very end. We’ve travelled a long way to bring this information to you in person, and I can promise, cross my heart, that you’ll not be disappointed in what we have to say.”

Again, a silence, in which the background noises of the other customers faded away, and in which everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Someone took a sip of their drink, and it sounded so loud in Wirt’s ears that he would have thought that it was a tempest approaching, if he hadn’t known better.

Another sigh, definitely not Mabel’s, tired and drawn out. “I’ve been working on this for so long now, since I was a kid. I’ve dedicated my life to this and have followed any lead that seemed even vaguely promising. Honestly, whatever you throw at me now, even if it’s all hogwash, I’ll listen to it. I’ve tried everything I can, and if you’ve got another way around it, I’ll give it a try. Even if it means looking into something occult or other weird stuff like that. It happened on Halloween, after all.”

Another chuckle, drier this time, but followed by the seats creaking as the Pines shuffled their weight on the vinyl, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well, actually…”

“… you might not be far from the truth.” Dipper said, completing his sister’s sentence in that weird way twins do sometimes.

Then they started on the tale. Their tale. The tale of Greg and his big brother Wirt, walking through the woods in what seemed to be a dream-like version of autumn, the strange folk they encountered and the adventures they had. Coming from another person, Mabel in particular, the story sounded quite fun, spinning it in such a way that it was as if Wirt was listening to a tale he had never heard before, despite the fact that she was describing everything with the exact same words that he brothers had used. Only twice she faltered, her voice petering off with the lack of words she had to describe the events. The first time was when Lorna had to be mentioned, and she happily let Ford take on that heavy mantle, memories of their later encounter with the spirit girl still a little too fresh. The second time was at the very end, not knowing how to describe the way the Beast had nearly made Greg part of the woods forever, and its subsequent defeat. Dipper made a good job of it though, getting the character of the forest guardian just a little too right for Wirt’s comfort.

After this, Mabel went on to retell the last encounter they had with a strange being in the woods, the Multibear, and Wirt shook himself out of the trance her voice had put him in. On the table, the drinks remained untouched, warm by now from the summer air, and found it amusing how neither Greg nor Sara had interrupted the speech. Greg was by far the most active of them all, and Wirt could not recall a single time he had sat still for so long.

And Sara. How had she managed to listen to all that without doubting a word of it? Without interrupting once to demand clarification? Without walking out, telling them that they were a waste of her time and her patience? It really was a day for small miracles.

“… and then they walked out of the woods, and into a field in Oregon.”

A few seconds passed, then Sara spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours, her voice loud in the coffee shop, now empty apart for them.

“And… how can you be sure of that?”

Wirt slowly stood and turned around, catching Sara’s eyes, beautiful and unchanged by the years.

“Because that’s where we first met them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Supposedly this is Tweek Tweak’s alias in South Park at one point, so I took that instead of Tweak Bros., which I find to be a little too blatant a reference.
> 
> [2] Her surname is the one of her voice actress.
> 
> [3]Nope, nope, nope. No way I’m giving them a surname when there’s none given to them in canon. Yes, I did so for Sara, but she’s got a husband now who’s an OC, so I get dibs on his, therefore her family name!
> 
> [4] The opera by Gluck is my favourite version so far.
> 
> You all deserve a long chapter for sticking with me for so long! Here you go! By the way, how do you like the turn this has taken? It’s way different from the Lorna arc, that’s for sure, but I’ve been wanting to write this scene for a very long time. It was actually the basis for the fic in the first place. So yes, now I’m happy :3.


	23. This isn't a sappy moment

Seconds after his revelation and his dramatic entry, Sara engulfed him in a hug. She was so quick to close the small distance between them that he saw her form blur away from her seat an instant before she wrapped her arms around him. It was gentle, not a bone-crushing hug, as if she was scared he would break if she squeezed him too hard against her chest. Wirt didn't care. She was there, he was here, and that was all that counted.

"This, my friends, is the perfect occasion for a group hug," said Mabel, taking on the voice of a big-headed college professor with a degree in the subject. Greg was the first to follow her advice, wriggling up between the two reunited classmates, forcing Wirt to hug him if he wanted to hug Sara as well. She chuckled, the lighter one, the one that still held a trace of her long-lost adolescent self, and complied. Mabel followed, superglueing herself to the side of the huddle. Dipper was the last to come along, complaining about how this should be a "private moment" for the brothers and Sara, but the mushiness of it all got the better of him in the end. Ford stayed put, not one for physical contact, thank you very much, but participating in the joy in his own side-line way.

After a few long minutes they disassembled, some tripping over wayward limbs and disentangling plaster casts from arms and such, but most of them surviving the event with no further injury. Sara held Greg close for a little while longer, then at arm's length to examine him more critically. She didn't say a word, her eyes roving over his full cheeks and smile, pausing for a second on his hair and the frog that jumped out of his jacket pocket to greet her too. After all, they had never met.

She let him go, then went back to her seat, as calm and composed as ever on the outside.

“I…I don’t understand,” she admitted, her voice betraying how shaken she actually was. “You look exactly the same as back then, and on the photos and everything… I just… I just don’t get it. If this is an elaborate trick, I don’t understand who would put so much effort into hurting me. I don’t have many enemies, even less ones that know me well enough to set something this complicated up...”

She dropped her head to her hands, burying her face in them, and from where Wirt was still standing next to the Pines’ booth, he could see Ford’s eyes darken. He had been expecting this, and was clearly expecting things to get out of hand pretty soon.

“Well, I guess that there’s only one way I can be sure… I’m sorry if this isn’t a hoax, but you understand why I doubt you, right? It’s just unreal. Surreal. You’re… Still the same age.”

Wirt winced, hurt by the reminder that this wasn’t his place to be. Sara didn’t move to apologize though, and brought her expression back to her cool and welcoming self. In her next questions, her words had lost their waver, even though there was still a hint of hope behind them that couldn’t be fully disguised by her professional interviewer’s tone.

“Greg, do you remember what Emily and I were wearing on Halloween?”

“Last Halloween, you mean? Oh beans, I’m sorry, I wasn’t there to see that, now that you’re all grown up it must have been awesome! But if you’re speaking about the last time we saw you, Emily was a witch and you were wearing a clown costume, I think? It was weird, you were also wearing skeleton make-up, so I can’t be sure, but I do remember you kept your jacket with the cool Nasa logo on it!”

Sara’s expression seemed to have warmed in that moment, even though Wirt would have sworn that it didn’t seem in the slightest bit tense in the first place. She answered Greg’s question of whether Emily was still around, before turning to Wirt.

Her eyes could never be anything other than beautiful, that was a fact, but the way she looked at him was scary. If Greg had been acting, she would have probably forgiven him: he was a little kid after all, and could have easily been dragged into play-acting by anyone wanting to set up such a charade. However, Wirt was older, and would have had to have full consciousness of what he was doing to play his role right. He swallowed the lump of saliva that he had accumulated in his throat nervously. Whatever came at him now, he had to get it right.

Sara smiled at him, in a way that maybe wasn’t all that kind.

“What was on the tape you gave me the last day before you disappeared?”

Mabel swore, an uncommon sound coming from her, quickly muffled by the outraged hisses of her brother and Grunkle. Only she understood the full sentimental value of the tape that he had given to Sara that day, the little piece of plastic containing a length of magnetic tape and a small ‘For Sara’ sticker on the side. That night, the one before they set off for their home-town, he had opened up to her on all his past and present crushes, and she understood why the question would send him into a wild sentimental loop.

He stayed with his mouth agape for a few seconds, not knowing what to say, before resorting to the answer he had given Beatrice, what seemed like so long ago, in the Unknown, and even longer ago to his brother, before they fell in the lake: “Clarinet and poetry.”

Her gaze hardened, a concentrated expression on her face, clearly starting to doubt her own theory. Quick, he had to finish this off, throw everything he could at this to prove that he was indeed himself, embarrassment or no embarrassment.

“There… there are three clarinet tracks. A movement from a concerto, a ballad, and a piece I c-composed myself,” he started, feeling his cheeks heat as the word kept spilling from him, his eyes attracted to the floor but still frozen to Sara’s. In a desperate effort to evade them both, he closed them.

There, much better.

“And... there are two poetry tracks: one is poem by Francesca Caroutch, and the second I wrote myself, and is the last track on the t-tape.” [1]

Even now he could feel his cheeks burning. He heard someone take a deep breath, before the next few words hit his ears and his chest like a baseball bat, making tears well in his eyes at their familiarity.

 

“ _I’ve had enough of running,_

_ of chasing the wind  _

_ painting it with my visions” _

 

His breath hitched a little before he followed Sara’s lead, but he managed to sputter out the next few lines anyway:

 

“ _Never will I know_

_whether silver is worth gold_

_or copper or tin”_

 

“ _Falling over my own feet_

_ Offering my heart _

_ Forever haunted and pained” _

 

He opened his eyes, unaware of the tear tracks that appeared as soon as he did so. 

 

“ _S-simply, without fear_

_of being seen as a fool,_

_ wishing luck on you,”  _ he said, his tongue finding the words easily after hitching on the first word. Sara’s smile was more genuine now, all trace of doubt wiped from her eyes. The last few lines, the most cringe-worthy ones in Wirt’s opinion, were said tenderly though, years of sadness and regret just about visible behind Sara’s few words.

 

“ _praying to see you happy_

_ despite suffering _

_ the harrowing lack of you.” _

 

“It’s… really bad poetry. I repeated ‘you’ at the end of the last sentence, and it’s just… ugh,” Wirt said, breaking the silence.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, getting up again and getting close enough to hug him. “That tape has always been my favorite. It’s still sitting in the player back at home.”

“Y-you kept it for so long?” asked Wirt, dumbfounded, trying not to pay attention to the “Dawwws” in the background. 

She nodded into his shoulder, and he held her tighter. This time, they were left alone, no extra people joining in on the hug. After a while, they separated, Wirt shuddering as they did. 

Sara turned to look at the rest of the group, smiling at them. “Maybe we could go back to my place, if you don’t mind. It’ll be easier to talk there, and maybe you could stay over? You all look like you can do with a good meal and a long night’s sleep on a comfortable mattress.”

Greg immediately whooped, and the Pines smiled at her politely. “We wouldn’t want to impose...” started Ford, quickly cut off by a chuckling Sara. Since her last hug, she seemed to be a different person, her aura, as if polished, glowed and beamed. The weight of the world was off her shoulders now, her life’s burden set down, gone.

“No, it’s fine, it’s the least I can do. Stay as long as you want; I think we have quite a few things to discuss anyway. You’ve got a car?”

Ford shook his head regretfully, but Sara only beamed wider at them. 

“That’s fine! We’ll just have to pile up in my car. Greg, you might have to sit on someone’s lap, but it’s only a short ride, so we shouldn’t be pulled by the police on our way there,” she joked, pinching Greg’s cheek, who squealed in laughter. 

The inter-dimensional adventurer narrowed his eyes, probably weighing pros and cons that only he could understand, and that may or may not be rational, but in the end he approved with a stoic nod.

They all jumped when the waiter materialized behind them, bill in hand as if he had read their intent, or else had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Nevertheless, it compelled them to leave quickly, the monotone ‘Hope you enjoyed your stay at Wondertweak’s’ chasing them away more effectively than a pack of wild dogs. 

The car they were led to looked a little small to house them all plus the luggage they had brought along with them. Sara brushed the concern aside when she opened the boot, which had plenty of space to contain all their stuff. 

“Hey, I bet that we can fit Dipper in here!” Mabel teased, nudging her brother in the direction of said place.

“Right, I’m officially offended. Mabel, you go in the middle of the bunk.”

“First in gets window seats!” she shouted back, scrambling towards Sara, wide eyes and braces on display in a blazing smile. 

“Right, it’s locked, I get it,” she said, clicking her key, car’s lights blinking thrice to show that it was ready to accept passengers. 

They all scrambled in, and after a brief scuffle on the twin’s side, a pouting Dipper was banished to the little appreciated middle seat. They had agreed on Wirt, and therefore Greg, getting a window seat beforehand, meaning that they only had one to fight over.

Sara stayed outside for a while longer, speaking on the phone with someone under Ford’s watchfully suspicious glare, but he didn’t stop her.

Once they had all settled, seat belts fastened for those who could, Sara finished her call, got in the car, revved the engine and set off slowly, careful not to jostle anyone as they drove out of town towards the outskirts, towards the place she had always lived, grown up, and settled into her own life over the years. Wirt envied her, but of course, he couldn’t do anything about it. Eyes catching sight of the small crow’s feet that reached past the side of her eyes, he thought, yet again, that in more ways than one, he was too late. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Whilst I was researching stuff for Wirt’s poem, I found one that has a lot of imagery from the series, from an anthology compiled in the 80s. The poem itself is by a certain Francesca Caroutch, and the version I’ve got (in French) goes like this when translated:
> 
> Sleepers lying under the river
> 
> children with eyes focused
> 
> on the underside of far-off lights
> 
> bewitched watchers
> 
> under the wing of the mirage
> 
> we feel growing between us
> 
> impalpable landscapes
> 
> The forgotten gods are wasting away
> 
> in the halo of the swamps
> 
> We’re on the watch for the miracle
> 
> lost between two sleeping winds
> 
> between the blind planets
> 
> and the trees without memories
> 
>  
> 
> I decided that it was weird and imaged enough to use in this context, with a very light reference to romance, so I thought yeah, why not! (Also, while writing this, I was listening to a song from 2012-2013, ‘Drive-by’ I think it’s called, and the contrast between the poetic quality of the song and this poem is simply hilarious).
> 
>  
> 
> Aaaand fortunately the song changed when I started writing Wirt’s poem (ironically, it was ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’), which is pure invention. Because I liked ‘Les Villes Tentaculaires’ by Paul Verhaeren, I tried to recreate the rushed feel I got from his writing. As if Wirt was nervously reciting it on the tape, eager to get the embarrassment over with before his brother burst in on his sappiness. There’s the odd Shakespeare (‘The Merchant of Venice’)and Rimbaud reference in there somewhere, as well as references to other fics, like ‘The Wind in Visions’, ‘Falling Over the Wall’ and another fic by skimmingthesurface, I think. The final line is taken and adapted from a sentence in the book ‘Les Pluies’ by Vincent Villeminot (an interesting but depressing read, if ever there was one). I decided on prose because with an alternance of five and seven syllables, I find it very difficult to write something that makes any amount of sense.
> 
>  
> 
> Again, I hope you liked this chapter. It seems like I’m straying away from my usual 1,500 word schematic, but I just couldn’t find a good place to stop in this chapter. I should be back on track soon, but as you can imagine, my longish absence has reasons hiding behind it, so you know. Patience is a virtue.


	24. This isn't a bad doggie

It didn't take that long to get to the outskirts, and as they drove out, Wirt began to recognize more and more landmarks. It was only when they passed the school, bleachers a different color than the ones he remembered, that he realized how close they actually were to home.

The car sped past a few more streets before turning down one that he knew Jason Funderberker had lived on back when… Back when.

"Right, we're nearly there. None of you scared of dogs? Allergic to animal hair?"

"Nope!" said Mabel, Dipper following with a shake of his head.

"All right, be ready to meet Bertie then. He'll bark a bit because he's a scaredy cat, but he'll calm down eventually. Don't worry, he's big but he doesn't bite."

They pulled up in front of a decent-sized house, a large Dalmatian lifting his head up as he watched the car come to a stop.

"Wow, Sara, this is a really nice place!" said Mabel, always the first to appraise a work of art when she saw one. And indeed, the house was really nice. A bit like his home, Wirt thought, with the wooden porch that seemed to be the default for the buildings in the area, but larger and with a drive leading to a garage onto the side where a large family car was parked, decorated with bumper stickers galore. The fences, although a cliché white picket, contrasted strongly with the house itself.

The architecture may have been plain, but every piece of exposed wood was covered in thousands upon thousands of painted flowers. [1]

When Wirt realized this, he gasped, taken by the beauty of the place. Someone must have spent years working on it. He stepped a little away from the group as they walked closer to the home to get a closer look at the side of the house, to admire the flowers painted there. When he did, he realized that it was even more impressive than what he had first thought. Every individual petal was perfectly shaded, making the flowers look practically real, the only thing breaking the illusion being the perspective they were painted from, sitting on the vertical walls as if on a table.

He snapped out of his trance when he heard the quiet bark of a dog, and he looked over to the animal who had issued the pathetic sound. The Dalmatian had his ears laid back against his skull, clearly terrified, as Greg gave him a huge bear-huge around his neck. Like Beatrice's dog back in the Unknown, this animal was big enough for Greg to ride without a problem, and that made Wirt a little anxious, considering the bad experiences he had had with dogs recently (he still remembered Annie as being aggressive, even though the canine had never done anything other than look a little intimidating) but he let his brother do as he pleased anyway.

"Hey, Anthony! Come and say hi, we've got guests!" said Sara, and the second following that, Wirt squeaked in a rather embarrassing way when suddenly a head popped up from behind part of the porch railing. The person started as well when he caught sight of Wirt, clearly not expecting him to be there, but quickly regained his composure and straightened himself up to his full height.

"Yes Mom, coming," he replied, throwing a half angry, half perplexed look in Wirt's direction before walking off to meet his mother. Wirt followed, not sure of how to react other than civilly. The pit of jealousy and melancholy in his gut stirred, small waves lapping at the sides, but his apathy in the face of the situation kept them from boiling over and turning him into a sobbing mess. Well, there was also the shred of honor he had left that forced him to not act like a weirdo in front of a near-complete stranger, but that was only a minor reason.

He walked over to where the small group had joined, just at the foot of the porch steps. Greg had, weirdly enough, diverted his attention from the animals and was watching "Anthony" and Dipper's exchange, a cold handshake. Quickly enough Mabel joined in though, immediately making the situation more complex by saying something that made Sara's son blush so hard that it even showed through his dark complexion. He was quickly reduced to a stuttering, glasses-fiddling mess when everyone present burst into well-meaning laughter. Again, this quietened the painful mixture in Wirt's gut, and he smiled. So that sort of embarrassing situation didn't only happen to him, then.

"Did I miss something?" he asked innocently as he walked in on the conversation. He was only answered with more giggling and a venomous stare from the kid who had obviously been the victim of whatever outrageous proposal plan Mabel had come up with.

Well, "kid" was a loose term to use, that is, thought Wirt as he suddenly realized that the person facing him was actually closer in age to him than anyone else present. He offered his hand out fearfully, a little awed as the boy who was technically a whole generation younger than himself grasped it and shook firmly.

"Anthony Brundige. And you?"

For a second, he panicked and faltered, but Ford pulled him together with a frown, pointing violently at himself in a way that in this context Wirt interpreted as "take our name". He caught up with himself, adding as smoothly as he could:

"W-Warren Pines. Nice to meet you." [2]

"Same."

Anthony immediately lost interest in him after letting go of his hand, not digging any deeper into the subject, intent as he was on finishing the presentations and getting away from Mabel as quickly as possible. As soon as Wirt deemed the other boy occupied with something else, he sighed in relief and walked over to where Dipper was standing.

"Warren, really? Couldn't have you chosen something cooler, like Tyrone?"

"Ugh, you're joking? What kind of name is that? Besides, I already started pronouncing the 'W', it would have seemed suspicious if I changed halfway through."

Dipper made a face, clearly affronted by something that Wirt had just said, but was interrupted by Mabel pulling on his sleeve, trying desperately to get his attention.

"Dipper! Dipper! Do you know who's painted all these flowers? You know it's Anthony, right? It's amazing! He's perfect! Dipper! I think I'm falling ..!"

Just as she was jumping around like an over-excited flea, Bertie the Huge Spotted Dog collided with her jittery, unstable legs. [2] Unable to get a good grip on her brother so as to stop herself (or, which would have been more likely, to pull him down with her), she was knocked off her feet and her backside collided heavily with the ground.

"Hard and fast, it seems," he said, offering her a hand up. "Pun intended, of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The Polish village of Zalipie is the inspiration for this.
> 
> [2] Clifford just looks so nice, you know? Even though I don’t believe that he’s never crushed anyone, be it accidentally or not, before. Bertie has, after all.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, this is short because of writer’s block, but I got Anthony out of the way! I really love this OC, with that dash of weirdness that makes him vaguely interesting (still an OC though, you might add, but hey… let me indulge a bit).
> 
> In other news, I’ve now got a Tumblr, thanks to a VERY INSISTENT person (you know who you are) who insisted that it was easier to chat via that platform than via any other (it’s true, but blogging… urgh, I hate social media). So yeah, you can find me there, just type “OakwoodOuroboros” or something in the search bar, it should come up.


	25. This isn’t going to be a bad time

After a while, Sara did manage to herd everyone into the huge family living room, even convincing Anthony to stay after bribing him with a pizza all to himself that evening. He sat awkwardly on the edge of his seat though, seemingly unhappy to be there, but that didn't matter in the slightest to Mabel. Oh no, her brother might have been joking earlier on, but in reality he wasn't far from the truth. Gosh, wasn't he handsome.

"Look! Jason Funderburker has discovered a new life form from a far-off planet!" Greg cried all of a sudden, making Ford look up sharply, only to see that the unrecognised possible threat at the other end of the room was only a small tabby cat. The eight-year old was quick to get up and run over to the furry feline, making space-ship noises as he did in a new game of make-believe all to himself. The older man let out a sigh, tension leeching out of him visibly. Mabel had seen all this, and even though she had gotten up to join Greg in his game, she glanced back at Ford and flashed him a reassuring smile. He smiled back, but his posture quickly turned ramrod-straight again.

"We come in peace!" said Mabel, addressing the cat that only looked up for a second before dropping her head back down to her folded paws.

"But we still want you to take us to your leader!" added Greg, trying to get a bit more of a reaction out of the sleepy animal.

They continued on the outer space adventure, but all the while Mabel kept an eye on the group and the serious conversation that was going on. She was a little worried about Ford, even though she knew that he would be fine. He was just a little on-edge, but Dipper would probably be able to deal with that. Still, her Grunkle looked calm and composed right now, efficiently disguising the fact he would react in the instant if any threat presented itself to them, or even if anything that by his standards could be considered as even slightly suspicious.

"Dipper and Mabel are my grand-kids, and Warren and Georgie my great-nephews that are staying over this summer," said Ford, not missing a beat, answering Anthony's pointed glare that he had kept on him for a while now. Although she shuddered at the lie, Mabel couldn't help but be impressed with how easily her Grunkle had spun a convincing back-story for them.

"Stanford was a senior when I first attended university, and he helped me a ton when I was struggling through my first year of med school. Shame you left though; I probably wouldn't have dropped out if you had stayed a little longer!" she laughed, poking her head out of the kitchen from where she was trying to keep a hold on the conversation while also being civil and making drinks.

"We were on a road trip visiting old friends and family with the kids on the East coast, and I just thought that it would be nice to pass through and catch up with my old friend from way back in college," Ford continued on his path of deceit, shrugging and constructing it with an ease that was uncanny. "It's been some time, after all."

"And how long are you staying for, then?" asked Anthony carefully. He obviously still had his doubts, and although it could become problematic and difficult to explain on their side if he uncovered the truth, Mabel couldn't help but gasp inside at the intelligence he displayed, even though anyone else would've had the same suspicions of they were in his position.

"A few days, honey! It was all a big surprise, so make sure that you pull out those spare mattresses, you'll have to share your room with one of the boys. Anyway, it's not the time to make sleeping arrangements yet. Boris'll be home soon with the girls, we'll have to see with them how we're going to organise things."

Anthony slumped back deeper into the couch, seemingly pacified. Mabel continued to stare at him for a few seconds longer, but was snapped out of her trance by someone tugging at her sleeve. Unsurprisingly, it was Greg, babbling something excitedly in regard to another discovery their lucky frog had made, something to do with hexagonal space-slugs. The girl shook herself and listened intently, trying to catch up on what he had to say. No matter how much she liked this guy, he wasn't going to get between her and Greg, not in a million years.

She pushed aside the dreaded thought about the brother's precarious situation, the fact that once this trip was over and that they got hold of the information they needed, there was very little chance that they would get to see each other as regularly as they had been in the last week or so (had it only been that long?). After all, they had been born and raised on this side of the country, if anyone was willing to take them in, it would be here. She had to spend as much time as she could with the brothers while she still had the chance to do so; Anthony was just an interest, someone she could potentially exchange phone numbers with, but he was in no case the priority.

Sara came back through the archway to the kitchen holding a tray with all sorts of glasses and such on it, which had Greg immediately interested when he spotted the ones most likely to have a high sugar content.

"Mabel, can we put the mission on pause for the moment? I think the interstellar jet has run out of fuel."

"Of course!" she replied, seeing that mischievous look in his eye. "Does the commander wish to sit on my lap while the jet recharges?"

"Yes please!"he answered immediately, and the next second they were plonked on the couch next to Wirt, on the side closest to the armchair that Anthony was sitting in. Mabel winked at Sara's son, just for the sake of it, and to her joy he turned his head in the other direction, biting back a smile.

"So… where have you been working lately? And on what subjects? You skip around a lot, I'm sorry that I didn't manage to keep track of it all," Sara asked sweetly, handing out the glasses and indicating that they could all serve themselves with what they pleased.

"Oh, well… biology. Yes, that's right. Allopatry. How a same species divides after a while into two different ones after two populations have been separated by natural barriers, for example," Ford said, using again that easy way about him that allowed him to lie through his teeth. To Mabel's combined dismay and joy, Ford seemed relaxed, happy about discussing whatever nerd thing he was going on about to a nodding Sara, who seemed to understand every last bit of it. Glancing to her left, she caught sight of her brother with a likewise calm expression on his face, a rare smile illuminating his features as he listened in on the conversation, captivated by the adult talk. Wirt, on the other hand was discussing something in hushed tones with Greg.

"No, it is not reasonable to add more sugar to your drink. It's sweet enough already."

To this, the little boy replied by whispering plans to Jason Funderburker about stealing the small pot of sugar that was supposed to be added to the home made lemonades as seen fit by the person drinking them. Wirt sighed, throwing his hands up, but did not relent and instead hid the small porcelain pot behind his back.

Seeing her whole family happy and easing without problem into this new environment (and of course she considered Wirt and Greg as part of her family, how could it have been otherwise?), she turned back to her right again to sneak a quick peek at Anthony, just to feast her eyes while she still could, but was surprised, then elated to see him quickly look away from her and an awkward half-smile tug at his lips. Mabel laughed, and the sound weaved itself into the happy humdrum of the room with the ease of a ribbon over a birthday present.

Things were looking up. Even though their time together was limited, be it with the brothers or the Brundiges, at least it looked like it was going to be enjoyable. And if she added just enough of her own touch to things, she could tweak it so that it was not only so, but unforgettable.

It was time to get her scrapbooking equipment out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Thank you so much to all my reviewers for helping me through this. It’s been a long exam period (plus of course writer’s block, and I had to change a major plot point for the whole ending to make sense :/ ). Anyhow, I hope that now that I’m free, I’ll get this fic finished. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to do so before September, that would be a good thing, and maybe even another chaptered work if I manage to.  
> Good day!


	26. This isn't a bottomless bag

“Seriously Mabel, I’m not sure how you manage to fit all that stuff into one bag. It’s like, bottomless or something,” said Dipper, scratching his chin over the sheer quantity of glittery arts and crafts products that were currently being unloaded onto the huge family dinner table [1]. Once she had decided on what she was going to do, she had gotten to it immediately and had fled to the bags still waiting in the hallway. As she had passed through the living room once again in order to ask Sara whether it was okay to use the kitchen for her project, she had walked by Ford, who was now holding a somewhat sleepy Greg in his arms and still jabbering away with Sara as if they really were old friends and hadn’t met literally a few hours ago, seeming to have moved onto different subjects now that their fake background had been established. To her surprise, Wirt had struck up a conversation with Anthony. Not that it looked particularly pleasant on Wirt’s side though, his smiles turning bitter halfway through and the skin between his eyebrows constantly creased, but at least it remained civil.

Dipper, left to watch on the sidelines and looking somewhat bored, had then caught sight of her and sensing the mischief she was surely planning, had followed her into the kitchen, only to now be stupefied by the item he did not believe hadn’t been somehow affected by Gravity Fall’s aura of weirdness.

“Are you sure that you don’t want Ford to take a look at it..? He always brings a minimum of gear with him, maybe that...”

“I don’t think that’s the best of ideas actually, Dipper,” Mabel replied, suddenly becoming grim. “Have you seen how relaxed Ford is? Give him a break, you know? Anything that happens here can’t be that dangerous compared to stuff that happens in Gravity Falls. I can let _you_ take a look at my bag, even though I can swear that there’s nothing paranormal about it.”

Her brother pondered her words for a few seconds, letting his shoulders that had tensed at the mention of Ford fall with a sigh.

“Fine. I guess you’re right, we should all try to relax now that we’re away from our work. Isn’t this what holidays are for after all? Getting to relax a bit before going back to another year of school. I guess that it’s the other way around now.”

“Yes. We should be concentrating on family and friends and fun times!”

Dipper smiled. “Yeah.”

There was a silence, only the rustle of supplies and paper filling it until it slowly faded away. The girl echoed her brother’s sigh, then looked up to him. She could see in his face shock when he noticed her eyes, filled to the brim with tears that she had tried to be holding back.

“Oh, Mabel,” he said, taking a step forward to hold her in a comforting hug.

“I-I-It’s just… D-Dipper, I th-think it’s the end. I th-think we’re getting closer to the end, and… I j-just hope that Wirt and G-Greg will be happyyyy...”

Much to her dismay, she started bawling into her brother’s shoulder.

“Mabel, I… You’re going to make a scrapbook, right? You… you don’t do them as often, only when you really want to keep something safe… Tell you what, we’ll make it together, all right? We’ll make a scrapbook, give it to Wirt and Greg, and...”

She tightened the hug on her side when she felt tears seeping through the shoulder of her own sweater. Suddenly, footsteps were heard, and Mabel looked up just in time to see a short figure shoot behind the door. Nervously, she detached from her brother’s embrace and wiped her cheeks furiously, Dipper doing the same when the unknown silhouette tentatively stepped back into the kitchen and they were finally made fully aware of her presence.

This was undoubtedly one of Anthony’s sisters, her face echoing some of his features, but apart from this she was as different as could be from her brother. Where he was laid-back in a teenager kind of way, she was all tension and nerves. Suspicion froze her young face in an iron mask (from what Mabel could tell, she was maybe ten or eleven), her eyes quickly jumping from one twin to the other.

“Hi there,” Mabel said, trying as always to be friendly despite the wobble still present in her voice. “I’m Mabel and this is Dipper, and we’re...”

“You were talking about Wirt and Greg. Mom has been looking for a Wirt and a Greg for years, they disappeared when she was a kid. Are the people in the living room...” she flicked her thumb over her shoulder. “...Wirt and Greg?”

She spoke quietly, something the twins were grateful for as they wouldn’t have had time to rush over to silence her. They exchanged a look and Mabel nodded at her brother, agreeing on telling her the truth. No lies could help them now.

“Yes, they are, but it’s important that you keep it secret. It’ll be too difficult to explain this to the whole family if anyone else found out. We need to keep it as quiet as possible, can we trust you to do that?”

She looked pensive for a second, but then a smile slowly appeared on her face, much to the twin’ dismay. They would recognise that look anywhere. It was one that they had themselves used more than they cared to admit on the Grunkles and on their parents when they knew they had a way to get anything they wanted.

“Only-” She raised a finger, before pointing it in Dipper’s direction, “-if _you_ teach me sign language, and _you-_ ” This time the finger pointed in Mabel’s direction, “-tell me more about these people.”

The twins yet again looked at each other, but really there was no need to. Her terms were not unreasoneble, and the only thing that could possibly hinder them would be the fact that Dipper would have to take an internet crash-course in ASL, but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. [2]

“Of course,” Mabel answered in her sweetest voice. “Let’s shake on that,” she added, offering her hand candidly. Dipper kept his eyes on the girl when she hesitantly placed her own in his sister’s, checking that she would not rely on the much-used childish technique of crossing her fingers behind her back as she did, but much to his relief, her other hand remained by her side.

“Great! Maybe I should get my part of the deal over with right away. Dipper, you know the basics on how to make a scrapbook: staple some pages together, will you? No space-glue this time please!”

Her brother sighed dramatically, but past experience had taught her not to trust him with simple tasks like these without giving specific instructions: he was too likely to want to ‘liven things up’ by adding some weird goo that he would have found stuck on the underside of Ford’s desk, or some other place where weirdness was profuse. Yet again, the same thing could be said of her and her cooking habits: to each their own, she guessed.

“Is there somewhere here that would be safe for us to speak?” Mabel asked the girl. “Oh, by the way, what’s your name?” she added on for good measure. Referring to her as ‘the girl’ or ‘Anthony’s sister’ was going to get old fast, and as Dipper or Ford would probably say in their own pessimistic way, “know your enemy”.

“Call me Sam,” she answered in a mumble, gesturing over her shoulder for Mabel to follow her. They went through another door leading off from the kitchen into the unknown depths of the house beyond, followed closely by Dipper’s narrowed eyes as they moved away and out of sight. She could understand his discomfort, she herself was slightly nervous to be separated and alone from people she knew, but they had to move on. The spirit incident was still fresh in their minds, Dipper’s injury a reminder of every instant, but if they were to heal healthily, they must have faith in what the future had in reserve for them.

Nevertheless, she did feel a bit of relief when she heard movement and Wirt’s slightly anxious voice join Dipper’s in the kitchen, words indistinguishable to her from her position halfway up the stairs, but present nevertheless. At least he won’t worry about her too much, and with a bit of luck, the older boy will prevent him from melting away half of her craft materials. Now, she could only hope that the little girl named Sam truly was the person she claimed to be and not a shapeshifter or a demon of some description.

Yet another sigh escaped her as she entered the darkened room that the child had opened up for her: was it the constant contact with the paranormal that was filling her previously carefree life with planning? Or was this just a sign that, as her parents had told her she would, she had finally started growing up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Really, this was originally Harry Potter inspired (the Deathly Hallows), but I can’t really ignore the reference to “Bottomless Pit!” either.
> 
> [2] ASL is the acronym for American Sign Language.


End file.
